Quest for the Lost Princess

Hey, Barad'Dun!

This thread is a story-writing thread in which a group of Barad'Dun authors write a story together. Each author will write a short passage.
Then, another author can continue with his or her own short passage.
This is not to be confused with an RP, however. You do not only write about your own character's actions.
Rather, you contribute the next part of the story, including the actions of all characters.
If you'd like to be one of our authors, let either Stoneheart or Demie know!

There are a couple of rules if you'd like to contribute to the story:

1. You must have a character background sheet - You can find the format for the character sheet and post your own here!

2. You must keep your post relevant to the storyline - Stoneheart and I have a general storyline to follow. Please try not to derail the plot too much. Also, try to keep your posts in line with the one before yours. If the post before yours talks about Konradr in the Dragon's brew in the middle of a conversation, don't jump in with Whisper in the desert. We're just trying to make sure that the story is easy to follow.

3. No god modding - Please don't make any character too overpowered. Avoid instant kills and stealing another character's kills. Also, don't kill of any character without permission from either Stoneheart or Demie. Minions and monsters are fine, but main villains and canon characters are not. We will be monitoring the storyline, and if it makes logical sense for you to kill off a character, we may offer you the chance to do so.

4. Proper grammar - We don't ask that you write with perfect grammar, but we do need to be able to understand your posts. Use periods. Capitalize where needed. A quick spell check would be nice too. If we notice a post that we cannot understand, we will ask that you rewrite it or ask for permission to correct it as we interpret it. If the post is illegible, it will be deleted.

5. Keep things period - You don't have to write in old English, but try not to make many modern references. One or two is okay, but don't reference your TV, time travel or your Xbox.

6. Try to write characters accurately - If you need to write dialogue or actions for someone else's character, please refer back to their character's background sheet. If Taco talks like a troll, please write him to sound like a troll. If a character is shy, don't have them run screaming into battle.

7. Keep magic simple - This is a fantasy story, so magic is allowed. However, please avoid making it a "cure all" for everything. Even magic has its limits. You can't resurrect the dead, you can't make anyone fall in love with you and you can't kill anyone. However, you can animate a corpse, summon a bouquet of flowers or set fire to a conveniently placed box of explosives.

8. Be respectful - Don't be rude. Your character can be rude, but don't be mean to anyone. Any disrespectful posts will be deleted, and it happens on multiple occasions, you will be banned from writing in the story. If you have a problem with the way someone wrote your character, ask them nicely if they wouldn't mind changing it.


The general story line goes like this:

"She doesn't love me. She'll never love me."

The man at the bar sobbed. He slumped over the bar, resting his head in his arms. His long grey beard was doused in a mixture of ale and tears.

"Oh, my son."

James Stoneheart rested his large, rough hands on the man's back. He looked at the man with forgiving eyes. Stoneheart had no drink in his hand. It was Sunday today.

"I paid for her. I paid. It's so degrading."

"Well," Stoneheart said calmly, "Did you tip her?"

"Tip?"

"If you repent, your gods may forgive you."

The man at the bar suddenly sat up. He finished his ale before wiping his mouth on his dirty, red sleeve.

"I'll make it up to her."

He scurried quickly down the stairs next to the bar, headed to the hidden brothel below.



"Halflings..." Stoneheart muttered under his breath, "God help him."

James was bored today. His cleric duties at the church were complete, and his War Wolves were enjoying a day of rest. Rather than spending the day indoors, he decided to help out some of the locals. His first destination, where he figured he felt he could do the most good, was the Damsel House. He went around to patrons who seemed to be down, having a hard time, and making them feel better. To be perfectly honest, the things he said hardly made sense even to himself. However, his confused ramblings did seem to help the bar patrons who were too intoxicated to care. James motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink: Water.

The old wooden door to the Brothel suddenly squealed open with a bang against the wall. The rush of cool sea air made the burning candles throughout the room flicker. Three dim shadows stood eclipsing the sunlight beyond. A small one in front, and two hulks in the rear. The small one entered first. It was young Hjartan, son of Njorn the Merchant. His golden hair fluttered like silk around his clean, handsome face. His blues eyes sparkled with joy and his smile was boyish.

"Good day all" He said as he strode confidently into the heart of the dark, crowded room. He wore a fine black woolen cloak topped by black rabbit fur and clasped with a large silver brooch. As he moved, his black leather boots managed to not step in spilled ale or vomit and gingerly stepped over the snoring form of Gudbrok, the local drunk, who was already passed out on the dusty floor. His pants were big plumes of black and white stripes and his tunic was of the brightest red linen with fine gold trim. Jangling on his thick, double wide leather belt was a black sheath holding a fine Norse sword with a jewel encrusted silver hilt.

The patrons returned to their lively ways, drinking, joking, farting and belching. None paid the lad any mind though it was not often someone from the merchant quarters of the great city would venture into these dark and dangerous environs. Older men would sometimes sneek in hidden behind great hoods, bringing silver to buy ale and a good nights Wenching. but never a young lad like this.

Young Hjarten, bubbling with enthusiasm, sat at a table and motioned for the Barmaid to come forth. The crowd began to liven again, drink, talk, joke when the two larger shadows entered. The room was suddenly silent again except for a gasp of lost air from one of the wenches.

Thorkill and Grod stood eyeing the room. The former a Norseman, the latter an Orc, both broad in the chest with large arms and stout legs. Both had tattoo's and battle scars littering their arms, chests and faces. Throkill had an eye patch over his left eye. His good eye was the gray of the sea, but it glinted of dark things. Grod was bald, and his skin was a light waxy green with splotches of old wounds and blade nicks where hair should have been. His ears had been cut at youth to form cat like triangles, and a large silver ring was pinned through his large nostrils. Both men wore old wool cloaks of a dusty brown. Bulges in them hinted at swords, daggers and perhaps a slung shield hiding within.

"Don't worry folks" a gleeful Hjartan said. "They are not here to pillage and plunder, they are with me." He motioned the two men to come sit at his table.

Silence followed them as they slowly strode to the young lad's table and took their seats.

Slowly, painfully, the noise returned as the drink began to flow again.

Jonas the Bar keep came to the table. He was an old man, large and burly like the two thugs sitting next to Hjarten, but he was old, his hair a dark salt and pepper mix twisting in a great knotted braid.

"Does your father know you are here lad?" He asked. He eyed the other two carefully.

"I am not here on my father's business Jonas. I am here of my own will" His smiled beamed with a flash of clean, white teeth.

"Are you now." Again the bar keep eyed the other two men suspiciously. "and what of these two?"

"My men." Hjarten said. "Tonight I make my own way in the world Jonas. Tonight I leave Barad'Dun to go on an Adventure. These men are going to lead me to a long lost treasure. My father will be proud of me when I return Jonas, laden with gifts and riches." The boy could hardly control his excitement. "It will be glorious."

Hjarten suddenly pulled a large silk pouch from his belt and threw it on the table. It clunked with the weight of much silver coin. "My men and I shall celebrate our last night in the city with your finest Ale..." The young lad took a quick look around the room, eyeing several young wenches with a smile and a wink. "And good compainionship."

Thorkill and Grod eyed the silk pouch and nodded slyly to one another. Jonas had seen those looks before.

"Ale my good man, ale for me and my men."

"Very well then lad." Jonas bowed slightly then left.

Someone began to play a bodhran drum and another played a metal whistle and soon the bar was hopping with dancing and loud singing.

Jonas shook his head as he returned to his ale room. A long slender figure behooded in a dark cloak with tassles of blonde hair poking out, sat leaning his chair against the wall as he nursed a large drinking horn filled with honey mead.

"Young Hjarten seems to be sowing his oats with some rather unsavory companions." the hooded one said quietly as Jonas approached.

"Aye. The stupid welp." Jonas said, spitting with disgust into a nearby, overflowing bronze spittoon. "Those two have talked him into hiring them to take him on a great Adventure."

"Young, dumb and full of silver." The hooded one said, He took a great swig of his brew and sighed.

"Aye." Jonas looked at the man. "The adventure will end in the nearest alley after they leave the pub."

"Aye."

"Where's are ale?" Hjarten called out from his table towards Jonas. A wench was trying to pry him from his seat and get him to dance. He was all smiles and glee.

"On the way lad." Jonas said. He looked to the hooded man again. "His father would probably pay a great reward if someone would save him from his own foolishness tonight."

"Maybe. But who in his right mind would want to take on Thorkill and Grod? They are some big nasty brutes."

"They might kill the boy." Jonas sighed.

"Aye, but it would be his own fault." The hooded one said with a laugh. He drank the last of his mead and rubbed the empty horn with strong hands. "Many years ago. That boy was me. A king saved me from myself then. A King long gone now, but never forgotten."

Jonas grabbed the Thor's hammer that swung on a silver chain about his neck and kissed it. "Aye. He was a great man. Odin enjoys his company in Valhalla."

"A keg of your fine sweet Mead, on the house, and I will see that the lad is safe."

Jonas grimaced. "Why'd the fool have to come in here tonight. He should have went to the Dragon's brew." The old man rubbed thor's hammer again.

"You have a Deal. Thank you Strider." With that Jonas headed into the cellar to bring up more ale.

Strider pulled the hood from his head. His angular, handsome features showed brightly in the candlelight beneath a mop of rakishly combed dirty, blonde hair. At his waist, his hand felt for, and then firmly gripped his great grandfather's sword 'Notte' which had seen him through many adventures, pub fights, and battles with great foes. Thorkill and Grod may think the night will aid them in their foul plans, but the shadows will be their undoing. It was not for nothing that Strider had always been known as the 'Golden Shadow'. For those two, the last sight they will see in this life, will be the glow of Notte's blade as it strikes from the darkness.

Strider smiled at the thought, and watched his quarry as they in turn eyed theirs.

The steel door to the basement opened up with a soft groan. A small man hobbled up the stairs, his weight leaning against the railing up the stone steps. He took huge steps upward, letting out low moans as he made his way upward. The man's shirt was ripped apart and the buttons to his trousers was missing as he nearly collapsed unto the ground of the main floor.

''ooooooohhh.....My poor legs....'' he cried out. A small blonde girl was next to the door, with a cane in her hand. With a small blush she handed the man the cane.

''You'll be needing this for the next week or so......'' she whispered, not looking at him.

The man looked at her, and took the cane. He had heard rumors that the first woman of the house of Damsels was rough, but clearly they were undermining her strength. With a look of shame he stuttered toward the main door, holding his fractured hip with his left arm. He knew he would have to visit the local healer to be able to stand up straight again, but he knew the girls advice would surely be true.

As the poor soul walked out of the brothel, a hulk of a woman stepped out of the basement with a sigh of relief. She flexed her muscular arms behind her, bending backwards. She wore a chainmail bikini with a fur skirt, her chiseled skin glistening in the morning sunlight.

''Do you have to be so rough on the new comers Calista?'' the small girl asked her.

''Come now Beans. Every new customer must pass the Gatekeeper before he can have the picking of the forbidden fruit. How else can we weed out the baddies?'' she said with a snarky smirk, roughing up the girls short hair. ''Besides, I only cracked a few bones. The last one couldn't even get out of the bed! Imagine that, a supposed barbarian of the northern mountains crying like a baby goblin only after a few minutes!''

''I suppose so.'' Beans said with a sigh, admiring the tall woman's muscular build.

''Don't worry little one. One day you'll be as STRONG as this amazon. Why, maybe some day you'll beat me in a true battle of the amazonians'!'' With a powerful laugh she patted Bean's back, nearly causing her to fall on her face.

With her day just starting Calista gave the room a once over. Even though it was a Sunday morning, she knew that there would be new customers, or at least her regular ones. She never understood why some men wanted to be overpowered by a women. Either they enjoyed the beating she gave them, or maybe they had a small spark of hope they would overcome her fierce spirit. None had done so, but she wasn't about to be a poor sport and tell them that it wasn't impossible.

Across the room she at once saw him. Fancy pants, all get up in rare silks and fabric. She knew of his status, a high ranking noble or even a wealthy merchant. Not many of those kind came around these sinful parts of the city, but not many had let those rumor fly around if they did. A few gold pieces here and there would ensure most secrets would be kept.

She gracefully made her way across the room, shouldering her way between to large men. 'Heh. Maybe i'll give them a go after the squirt.'' she thought, eyeing their strong physique.

Hjarten meanwhile was busy having a gale of a time with the bar wench, dancing his fancy feet to the drumbeats. They spun around, twirling around the tables and drunkards that had passed out from the previous night's events when suddenly someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. He went face-first into her large bosom, the cold steel of the chains against his ears. He looked up to a giant, 2 heads taller then himself.

''Well well, new blood I see.'' She said with a sinful smile, holding him against her hard body.

''Uhhh, Y-yes.'' He said nervously, obviously not used to a woman taking the lead.

''Come here for a drink?'' she asked casually.

''Y-yes! For tomorrow I start my life as an adventurer!'' he exclaimed with a glee.

''And more?''

''Well that was the plan.'' he said bluntly.

''Ah, well....Since this is your first time here....you obviously don't know the first rule about the House of Damsels.'' she smirked.

''I didn't know there were rules....'' he said nervously, as he started to struggle to get out of her arm lock.

''You can't go inside the harem chamber unless you get past the Gatekeeper.''

''Gatekeeper? But I already paid to get in!'' he said, motioning the silk bag, overflowing with silver pieces.

''Ooooh, this Gatekeeper requires more then coin.'' she said with a wicked smirk. With that she took the fragile merchants son by the waist and carried him like a roll of leather. He squirmed immediately, fighting tooth and nail to get out of her grip.

''My my, you're a frisky one!'' she said with delight, a large smile on her bronze face. ''I love it when they fight back! I hope you don't disappoint me Fancy Pants!'' And with that they both entered the basement, his cries of fear muffled behind the steel door.

Demie made her way down the creaky staircase that led from her bed chamber to the bar below. It was noisy for a Sunday, and she wanted to find out why. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Demie saw faces of both regulars and newcomers, two in particular who looked incredibly out of place. She eyed them briefly before dismissing them as non-threatening. They were large, but they were no match for the large guard she'd hired the week earlier.

Demie took a few steps toward the bar, hoping for something to calm her headache. However, upon reaching the end, she noticed someone she'd never expect.

"Stoneheart?"

The dwarf turned around to face Demie, smiling happily.

"Ah, Demie, my friend! Good to see you!"

"What are you doing here?" Demie asked, "It's Sunday, and you're supposed to be of the highest moral standards."

"Oh, I'm not here for alcohol or women if that's what you're thinking."

"Of course, not! Why would you come to a brothel for women and alcohol?"

Demie laughed. Stoneheart was an odd man, but he was a good one. She sat next to him before asking Jonas to bring her a drink. As she was enjoying chatting with her friend, however, she was approached by Beans.

"Ma'am?" said the girl rather quietly.

"Yes?" Demie said as she turned around.

"What in God's name?!?" Yelled Stoneheart, "You have a little girl working in your brothel, Demie?! I knew your morals were loose,
but this is just ungodly!"

"Relax," replied Beans, "I only work upstairs caring for patrons' possessions. I came over to you because someone left something rather...odd."

She motioned for Demie to follow, leading her back to her counter near the front door. She ducked behind it and pulled out a wrapped parcel.

"A man came in early this morning and checked this in. However, he never came back for it. I don't think I saw him leave, but I can't seem to find him anywhere in here."

"Open the parcel," said Demie.

Old Borgun grabbed the two steins of ale from Jonas and as carefully as his old bones could manage, he walked around Demie and Beans as they talked over a wrapped parcel of some sort.

"Pardun me M'um" He said with a toothless smile, and he hobbled on.

Borgun's friend Liverworm sat at their usual corner table below a hanging candle lantern. The table had a nine men's Morris game board etched onto its tired wooden surface and several stones were already in play.

Liverworm, who's real name was lost to the mists of time, was as old and crochety as Borgun, both men having survived a long life of the sea, and the Army here in Barad'Dun.

Both men drank heavily from the stein's as Borgun sat. He smiled, wiped away some ale spill and placed a bright gold coin on the center of the table.

"'Wot? What's 'at for?" Liverworm asked.

"Let's 'ave a bet shall we?"

Liverwurm smiled and scratched his white whiskered chin. "I'm always up for taking yer coins Borgy."

"Good." Borgun pointed his stein at the Two large hulking brutes sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room. "You see those two there."

"Aye, nasty buggars. Came in wif yuung Hjarten."

"The lad hired them to take him on an adventure." Borgun started to laugh so hard, his eyes watered and he began to cough. A swig of Ale brought him back.

"The fool." Liverworm said. "They'll find him beaten, and stripped naked in the pig yard by morning."

"Most likely, but I'm willing to wager that he won't".

"Wot? are you crazy now too?" Liverworm almost spilled his ale.

"That's the bet. Take it or leave it."

Liverworm threw a coin down on top of Borgun's. "Done, but the bet's off if he doesn't survive whatever happens to him in Calista's chamber of love."

The two men laugh. Both drink but Liverworm notices Borgun still smirking and silently chortling to himself.

"Wot? Wot you not telling me old fool?"

Borgun became serious. "You know who wun that tourney yesterday?"

"'who? Was it that big Troll, Taco?"

"No, 'e came in second this time 'round." Liverworm was stunned and Borgun smiled. "Yep, yuung Strider Pharazon beat him."

"Good for 'im. 'e's a fine yuung lad." Borgun began to laugh again. Liverworm eyed him coolly. "Give it up before you choke yerself."

"I was at the bar, gettin' these two ales, and I o'erheard Jonas say he hired Strider to protect yuung hjarten from those two buggars." Borgun was all a toothless grin now.

"You bastard."

Liverworm sat fuming while Borgun smuggly drank from his stein.

Moments later a youngster, no taller then their tabletop and wearing rags for clothing, came by holding a dirty palm out for coins.

"Be off." Borgun grunted.

"No, wait." liverworm said, pulling a silver coin from his pouch. "Cume 'ere lad."

The boy approached and Liverworm whispered in his ear. The youngster nodded and the silver coin was placed in his palm. With a smile the boy was gone, running for all he was worth.

Borgun watched as Liverworm sat back calmly and began to drink from his ale stein again.

"Wot was that all about then?

Liverworm smiled. "Imagine that. Yuung Strider in the ol' House of fine Damsel's enjoying a drink er two."

"Aye. Wat of it?"

"Wonder if 'is Woman knows?"

Borgun slammed down his ale stein on the table.

"You bastard!"

Liverwormed laughed heartily, his wrinkled old face splattered with ale.

(Quick insert for those who don’t know. Shannin’s Dag name is Sheena.)

The boy quickly made his way out of the brothel and into the busy streets of Barad'Dun. The silver coin clenched tightly in his right hand. 'I will eat well tonight!' he thought to himself as he bee-lined to his destination. The hard cobblestone underneath his bare feet only helped to spur him on. The lad passed through the bustling marketplace, under stalls and people, towards the west side of the city. He turned down an alley way and ran through to another open street. He stopped and looked around for the golden sun, Strider's mark. Finally, the boy spotted the multi-story homestead, the symbol emblazoned on the two banners parallel the great oak doors. He ran up to the door, and with all the strength he could muster, banged on the hard wood.

A short while passed before the doors began to swing open wide. A large man, with a scruff face and tough features, eyed the young boy.

“Hullo Mista! Is de Fair Madum ‘ere?” the boy said, in his broken street tongue.

Beren pondered him for a moment before stroking his beard and eyeing the outside of the house and street beyond. His gaze focused back on the urchin, he seemed almost surprised the boy hadn’t scampered off already.

“I assume you are meaning Lady Sheena? What business do you have with her little one?”

“I ‘ave an empoten message Ser!” he replied, eagerly bouncing from foot to foot.

“Well…” Beren huffed, “I suppose you should wait here while I fetch her then.”

The man walked back into the house, round a corner where the boy could no longer see him. He waited outside the door, leaning this way and that, trying to listen to the faint conversation unfolding somewhere within. After a brief minute or so Beren appeared again and stood just beside the large frame, followed closely by a beautiful maiden. She has a rosy complexion and brilliant green eyes, with her blonde hair curled and braided about her shoulders. She stepped out to meet the boy, smiling lightly and expectantly.

“I ah..” the very sight of the girl had him stuck on his words. “Iya ‘ave a message for you miss..”

His face was starting to turn red, and he lowered his sight to the ground to ponder the stones.

“Yes?” Sheena sweetly replied, noticing the boy’s sudden shyness.

“Well, I wus jus’ over at de Broffel you see, an I’s thought ya should know. I, uhm, well I coulda swore that I saw Lord Strida minglin’ wiff dem ladies and whatnot.”

She seemed to let this settle in for a minute, possibly sifting through his sloppy language.

“Are you quite sure of this, young man?” She asked, as she ducked down to meet his avoiding gaze.

“Ah.. y-yes.. Mam. I is pritty shore it wus ‘im.” he seemed to step back a little with his last sentence.

Sheena stood up slowly and closed her eyes. Her arms crossed thoughtfully over her pink, bespeckled corset. Her face seemed deep in thought, but her brow started to furrow a bit. She opened her eyes and it seemed there was a fire burning in them. With her newfound furor she let out a shriek.

“THAT ASS! I TOLD HIM NO!!!” she cried, as she flew down the steps of the house and out into the unprepared city.

Beren stood, blank faced and hands on hips, watching her fly down the street.

“Now you’ve done it boy…” he said, as the urchin child stumbled back in bewilderment, and quickly fled off into the world.

The newly born Goddess of Fury broke her way through crowds and tore around corners. People cried out as they were caught, and quickly mangled, by the roaring she-beast. Sheena turned a corner and stopped, facing the Brothel. She ran headfirst and smashed through the door, Demie’s surprised guards went flying into the décor. She stopped in the middle of the establishment and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“STRIIIIIIIDEEEEEEEEEEEER!!!” walls seemed to tremble at the sound. All were hushed and attentive.

“WHERE IS HE?! I KNOW HE’S HERE!” She turned and spotted a shadow against the bar wall. The shadow revealed itself to be the smirking form of the man called Strider. He stepped forward holding out his arms, almost as a surrender to his valiant enemy.

“Sheena, honey. I’ve missed you.” He said with a roguish grin. He dared to take another few steps forward and received a wallop that nearly took his handsome off. With a cry of surprise, he turned his face back, now red and somewhat superficially injured, with a look of apology on his face.

“HOW COULD YOU?!...”

“HOW COULD YOU GO ON SURVEILLENCE WITHOUT ME?!” She said at last, her face beet red.

The room seemed awkwardly quiet; no one was sure what kind of conflict had just occurred. Strider let go of his face and dropped his head down to a bow. He held his hands up in defeat, and raised his eyes to meet hers. She seemed to calm a bit and regain some of her lady-like posture.

“Alright, I’m sorry, Love. I should not have gone off without you. I know how you love to play a crowd almost as much as I.” said Strider, almost proudly.

“Yes, and don’t you forget it! Next time you leave me like that it will be your Nightmare privileges!”

With that he took her in his arms and they walked out together laughing about things unbeknown to the stupefied crowd. The doors closed, and everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing as they tried to return to businesses at hand. ‘What is wrong with those two…'

Jonas stood, mouth agape, like the rest of the room's patrons and beautiful damsels, wondering indeed at what that was all about. One thing was for sure. Strider and his lady had left the building.

As the noise returned along with the drinking, the music, the dancing and the laughter, The big man shrugged.

"looks like Hjarten's fucked." He muttered as he went off about his business.

Stoneheart knew he was a lightweight, even when it came to non-alcoholic drinks. Soon it was time for the cleric to 'drain the dragon', as some of the sailors said around the dock. He got up and went to the bathroom indicated for gentle-vikings and all male creatures.

The bathroom was, strangely enough, cleaner then the bar area. Mahogany wood flooring laid at his leather-covered feet, shining like the morning sun. To the right of the room was a long stone case when funneled down to a metal grate, leading to the sewers. Further down the room were private stalls, with one of the doors broken off of it's hinges. No doubt the result of a poor soul who couldn't make it to the stone basin fast enough.

Unfastening his viking trousers, Stoneheart looked up at the wood wall. The local militia would come to the taverns and post up wanted signs in the bathrooms, in case anyone had a lead on various crimes. There were two posters on the wall. The first described a rough looking man, with gray hair and an eye patch over his left eye. The other looked like an orc of some kind, pale green skin, bald with a lot of facial scars.

''.....huh......'' Stoneheart mumbled, giving the posters a once-over. ''They....look familiar.....but from where....''

Looking over the posters, it entailed their malicious deeds; Mugging, Extortion, Torture, and kidnapping. They were wanted alive if possible, and the reward was one hundred gold each.

After the dragon had been tamed Stoneheart went to the bath basin and washed his hands thoroughly. He left the bathroom a minute later, swinging his hands in the air, air drying his now wet hands. Over by the entrance he saw Demie and Beans huddled, both peering down at something. He was just about to go towards them when he looked over to the tables. There near the far back, where Calista had grabbed her newest victim, were two rough looking men. One was bald, green skinned with battle scars; the other an old sea dog with a patch over his left eye and a gray beard.

Panic began to settle inside him.

'Wait......no.....it can't be.....' he thought to himself, doubting the coincidence. The sea dog looked at him then, eyes dead cold, with a slumbering anger deep inside him. Stoneheart quicked his pace, bumping into the two girls.

''Demie!'' Stoneheart whispered, tapping her on the shoulder. Demie turned away from whatever she was focusing on and looked at him.

''What?'' she asked, looking at him oddly. He wasn't usually this frantic.

''We got criminals here.''

''.....This is a brothel.......'' she said, giving him a sarcastic look.

''Not the usual petty thieves.....These ones are serious. Kidnapping and torture serious.'' he said as calm as he could. His body began to shake. He didn't mention the extortion part, in case that was the reason they would be here in her brothel. Demie looked at him cautiously, unsure of what to say.

After a moment she looked over at Beans and said, ''Beans, go fetch some guards. We have a bounty to turn in.''

''W-What?'' she stuttered, shocked at what Demie just said. ''How are you going to collect when you haven't caught them yet?''

''Don't worry. We have a Gatekeeper for more then just to protect our girls.'' she said coldly. She ushered Beans outside, and the girl obeyed, still carrying her parcel as she quietly left.

''You're going to use Calista?!'' Templar exclaimed, looking at her with fearful eyes. ''You know what happened the last time! Nearly burned the place down when she used that danged fire whip!''

''If these guys are as dangerous as you say, we're going to need her. I'm just afraid of her reaction when I have to tell her two wanna be criminals are interrupting her session.'' she said with a sigh. ''Just make sure those two don't leave. I shouldn't be long.''

With that she grabbed the ring of keys at her waist and took one that was blacked steel. She unlocked the door and ventured forth down to the basement.

As Demie descended the staircase leading to the brothel below, she began to hear noises. Sure, there were intimate sounds and a few giggles, but over all of that, Demie heard something rougher. A few loud crashes emanated through the air followed by a scream - male or female she wasn't sure - and a few low grunts.

At the bottom of the stairs was a large, circular room with cobblestone walls and floors. In the center of the room were a few support beams, in the middle of which rested several elegant red and royal purple cushions out of high-end materials like satin, silk and velvet. They were arranged on the floor in a circle around a large hookah, the hose of which currently rested in the mouth of one of the house's more handsome patrons. Every few feet or so on the round, stone walls rested large, intricately designed doors. Each one was a different color and had a decor to match the personality of the woman who slept and worked behind it. Demie stepped up to the tall black door directly in front of her. This seemed to be the room where the loud commotion was coming from.

"Calista!," Demie yelled before knocking, gently at first but then louder. No response. Demie knocked again, much harder this time. The crashes and grunts continued, but still there was no answer. Finally, Demie lifted her heavy boot off the ground and kicked the door multiple times. The door did not open upon impact, but the violent noises stopped. Finally, Calista answered the door.

"Can I help ya, boss?"

Calista's dark brown hair was messy as if she'd been violently shaken or in a fight with an angry animal. Her large, muscular body seemed to be bruised and cut. The amazon smiled, revealing a bloody lip and a red eye.

"Are you servicing a stone golem?"

Demie looked past Calista at the patron inside. He was small and smiling back at her with a cocky smugness.

"Boy's tougher than 'e looks," said Calista, smiling at the challenge.

Demie pulled the woman out of her room and found an empty space where they wouldn't be heard.

"Hey! Don't run off! I'll be gentler, I promise!" yelled the boy from within the room,

"Calista, grab your whip. We have criminals in our midst."

"...This is a brothel..." Calista replied smartly.

"No, I know. Worse than the petty thieves and scoundrels."

Calista smiled. The only thing she loved more than a good challenge was a good fight.

"I'll grab my whip if you grab your sword, boss."

"Deal."

Strider walked up to his home with Sheena on his arm. He opened the door for her, and escorted her inside. He turned her around to face him, and embraced her.

"I've been hired to protect someone. I need you to stay here and away from danger." he told her sternly.

"I see..." she sighed in reply,"Then I suppose you should go and change. Wouldn't want you to ruin your good garb."

He nodded and walked into his armory. He suited himself in his loose black jacket and trousers, wrapping his golden sash around his waist. Strider hooked his trusty blade, notte, onto his belt and pulled his brawler shield out of his locker and strapped it to his back. He came back to the main entrance and said his goodbyes to Sheena. They embraced one last time before he walked out into the city. Fully garbed and kit at the ready, he headed back towards the Brothel, though not through traditional means.

Firstly, he walked into the nearest alleyway, and then started to climb upwards until he made it onto the roof. He scaled his way across Barad'Dun, taking care of being spotted by anyone that may have been watching. Strider seemed as a prowling warg, leaping from building to building. At last he had spotted his destination and made his way to a back window of the building. He slowly opened a window and snuck in, weaving his way through rafters until he was in an optimum place of reconnaissance. Scanning the large room, he had spotted the two large brutes that were accompanying the boy, as well as the dungeon entrance where the boy had gone off with the giant woman. For now, he would bide his time and observe.

Before heading out to fetch the guards, Beans took care to grab the still-wrapped parcel from the counter. She wasn't sure what it was, but she was sure that if something happened inside the brothel tonight, she didn't want anyone taking it. She tucked it carefully away into a pouch on her side. She once again ducked behind her counter, this time arming herself with a dagger. It was much smaller than her preferred weapon, but she couldn't risk exposing herself with a giant sword.
Beans tucked the dagger into her left bracer before carefully sneaking out the front door.



Demie walked back up the stairs unaccompanied. Calista needed a moment to gather her equipment and set loose her client. However, rather than sending him back upstairs, as per instructions from Stoneheart, Demie had offered Hjarten his pick of any of the other damsels. His choice had been Anara, which was a plus since she could also protect him - or subdue him - if need be.

Demie walked casually past the bar, signalling subtly to Jonas to follow. She stopped in front of the check-in counter and waited for him to approach.

"I don't know what yer plannin'," he said, "but I want no part of it."

"I'm not planning anything, Jonas," Demie assured. And she wasn't. She merely took the steps necessary to protect her establishment and the patrons within. If the two wanted men did not come to start trouble, there would be none. If they did, however, have some sort of underhanded business to complete at the Damsel House, they simply wouldn't leave alive. For now, however, it was a waiting game.

He crouched above, silently observing; his targets never left his sight. Strider had been watching the two large “bodyguards” for any sign of a sudden attack, but he doubted they would do it here. They would most likely wait until they had left the city before striking the boy down and stealing his valuables. Maybe they would even ransom him back to his father, surely killing him anyway and leaving the region with the profits they had made. These two were professional killers, and in all likelihood, were not working alone. The question was, who are these men affiliated with? Why would they need to target the boy, instead of his wealthy father? Something wasn’t adding up here, and Strider was going to find out what was missing.

In the far corner of the room near the dungeon, he spotted Beans and Demie speaking quietly while the former slipped a dagger into her bracer. He could only hope they wouldn’t try anything whilst still in the brothel. This was a fight better taken into the streets of Barad’Dun, even better, outside the city. The two brutes stood up suddenly, shaking the table violently. The orc marched over towards Demie closely followed by the man. Strider unclipped his sword and made his way along the wooden rafter in an attempt to pincer the men, should they attempt to fight.

“You, little girls, where’s da boy?” the orc grumbled as he approached Demie and Beans. “He’s been gon for uh while now.” he stopped abruptly and crossed his arms over his massive pectorals.

“He will be back shortly, Sir” squeaked Beans, her hand almost instinctively going for her dagger.

“Don’t you worry, he’s in good hands.” Demie retorted with her sassy attitude.

The brute stepped forward and raised a fist, his compatriot let a hand fall on his weapon.“Well, I thin he sho be back now.”

“Of course… Beans, would you kindly fetch the young man from the dungeon?” said Demie, her eyes never leaving the two in front of her.

Beans tentatively ran downstairs, almost skipping steps as she tried to look back up behind her. She turned down the hallway of the special pleasure rooms and stood in front of the “Dominus” room. She flung the door open with her hands over her face, just barely peeking through two fingers.

“Master Hjarten, your men insist that you return!” the girl managed to call out.

With a jump, the boy attempted to cover himself, which was hard considering his hands were tied. His consort was dressed in an executioners leather outfit. Hjarten turned himself quickly and shouted in embarrassment. Beans threw his pants and tunic to the woman who, rather impressively, got him dressed in seconds flat. Protesting the whole ordeal, Hjarten marched out of the room talking about “my father” this and “my father” that. Beans proceeded to push him up the stairs and out into the bar.

“There ye are boy, it’s time te go.” Throd said, grinning with his fangs protruding from his lower lips. He stepped forward and grab Hjarten by the arm and lead him over to his coat and personal belongings. “You dun wanna miss out’n all that treasure, eh boy?”

“Of course not, I won’t come home without something awe-inspiring!” the boy replied ecstatically.

The man, Thorkill, gave Demie and Beans a once over before turning to follow the two. They walked out the door while Hjarten discussed plans and routes and his concerns about having no running water. By the time the door had closed, Strider was already gone, back out on the prowl.

Night had descended upon the city of the Western Tower and it was a starless night. Some quarters of the city were well lit street hearth's or large hanging candle lanterns. These areas still had activity, people enjoying the night air in song, dance and drink. Some areas only had light eminating from taverns and other evening gathering places where folk could gather for other enjoyments. These places too had song and dance, and sometimes not. Sometimes they were den's of smoke and halucination, or of intimate playfulness, or sometimes they rang of arguments and brawls. Most of the city; however, was quiet and dark with not a soul stirring about save a few ferral cats, dogs and rats.

Two such rats made their way through a series of narrow winding alleyways in the Hadash Quarter of the City. Famed for its busy markets, bustling warren of streets, armies of street urchin's, veiled women, and thieves. These rats were Thorkill and Grod and between they hustled young Hjarten along.

"I've never been to this part of the city." Hjarten said. His eyes glanced left and right at each shadow. His eager smiled had faded with each step they took into the dark labyrinth that was the Hadash. "Um, why are we going this way?"

The boy started to hesitate, but Grod nudged him along.

"We go to meet a man name Shazzapanur. He has our supplies for our trip." Thorkill said in his thick Norse speak. At the same time, the man kept looking back over his shoulder. He kept feeling a presence, like eyes were upon them, but he could not see anyone. Grod too had felt it and with his Orc ears, he had tried to listen for any other footsteps in the alleys, but had heard only rats scurrying about.

"Oh, I see. Our outfitter. But why must we meet him at night?" The seemed to relax abit now.

"Boy, we no want anyone follow us, right?" Grod said. "You want others to get to our gold first?"

Hjarten's energetic smile suddenly came back. "No, that wouldn't be good, would it." the boy laughed. Grod laughed too and then he pushed the lad into an even narrower alleyway. "that way boy."

The boy fit easily in the narrow walkway and headed gingerly into the dark.

"I can't see." He said.

Grod and then Thorkill followed him, but for them it was a much tighter fit and they could only go one after the other.

"Keep goin', there will be a light." Grod said.

The three moved slowly, feeling their way in the dark. Suddenly Grod grunted loudly and then cursed in his Ork language. Thorkill walked into Grod and then cursed in his own language. Finally a hard shove by the Norseman dislodged Grod and sent him stumbling into Hjarten and the three of them fell into an opening. A light faintly glowed here, revealing a small courtyard ringed by high builldings.

The three of them stood up.

"Ahhhhhhh" came a deep voice that seemed to slither out of the darkness. "I see you have made it."

Hjarten moved forward with a smile, not realizing that Thorkill and Grod hung back a little, gripping their weapons. "Yes, I am Hjarten", the boy said.

"I havvvvve been waiting for youuuuu." The voice slithered again. From the shadows a figure emerged lit somewhat by the dim candle lantern above the courtyard. He wore a long brown, beige and white striped hooded cloak much like the desert dwellers wore. He was tall and slender, like an elf. Perhaps, Hjarten thought, he was a desert Elf. The man's face could not be seen, but his almond shaped eyes strangely glowed an incandessant purple. "I am Shazzapanuuuuur." His voice was both soothing and wicked.

Hjarten held out his hand in friendship. Shazzapanur's cloaked arm produced a bony, brown skinned hand with long, slender fingers and pointed black nails that reached out and clamped down on the boys hand. Hjarten's eyes suddenly lost their gleam, and his smile faded.
Another brown, bony hand rose to the boy's face and its fingers gently touched him on the forehead. The nails were cold like steel.

"Jaznaya vox tu bento al karashna po!" The cloaked man said softly, but his eyes began to glow and then a light emanated form his palm and was reflected in Hjarten's eyes. The boy openend his mouth but then his eyes closed and he froze, like a statue.

"We brought you the boy." Thorkill said, trying to sound confident. "What about payment?"

The desert man reached into Hjarten's cloak and pulled out the hefty coin pouch he had been carrying. He held it aloft in one outstretched bony hand then ran his other hand over it. When he held both hands open again, there were two identical coin pouches, one in each hand, and they were bigger than the original.

Shazzapanur threw one to Thorkill, then the other to Grod. Both men caught them with a grunt from the weight. Coins could be heard jingling inside. Thorkill opend his, and a golden glow lighted his face. He smiled. Grod did too.

"You have your coinssssss," Shazzapanur said slowly. "but you may not make it out of here with them." He laughed lightly. "For there is a man behind you that wishes you harmmmmm."

Thorkill and Grod both looked behind them, but saw only darkness.

"No one there!" Grod said with a growl.

A laugh slithered from Shazzapanur's throat and then he said another chant in his strange desert tounge and a ball of green light appeared between his palms. The ball of light slowly drifted away from him, getting bigger as it went. It was as large as a dog when it passed between the Norseman and Ork. When it reached the end of the courtyard it was as large as a man. The light suddenly rose to the rooftop and there, in its glow, stood a man in black with a mighty sword in one hand and a shield on the other. His hair was golden and fluttered in the night breeze hiding his face.

"Cute trick." Strider said. "I'd applaud but I'm about to kill you and your friends."

Shazzapanur laughed louder and then there was a sudden swirling tornado of desert sand. Grod and Thorkill gagged on the dust, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and so too were Shazzapanur and young Hjarten.

"Shit." Strider, Thorkill and Grod all said at the same time in three different languages.

Strider jumped down to the courtyard and faced the two thugs. Thorkill pulled out his axe and slid his strapped round shield off his back, while Grod brandished an chipped Ork chopper blade in one hand, and an iron spiked skull crusher in the other.

"Smoke and mirrors." He said. "Sorry I won't have time to play too much with you too, I have to catch up with that little conjurer friend of yours before he gets too far with the boy."

"Conjurer eh?" Came the floating voice of Shazzapanur, echoing throughout the Courtyard. "One last trick then for you Mr. Strider."

Another eerie chant followed, three times then a loud "Kaysham!!!"

Suddenly both Thorkill and Grod where enveloped in a ball of red light. The light pulsated, slowly at first but picking up speed as Shazzapanur floating voice began to hum as if in a trance. The Norseman and Ork began to tremble, their faces grimacing in pain. Their bodies shook and quivered and both cried out. Then the two glowing, pulsating balls of red light split in two. There were now four orbs of brilliance and inside two of them were mirror like reflections of Thorkill and Grod.

The light began to slow their pulsations and as they did so, the reflections of the two giant thugs, began to look more and more solid. Then POP! The circles of light vanished, leaving two exact copies of a one eyed Norseman and his battle scarred ork companion. They had the same weapons and each had a copy of the coin pounches hung from their belt. The four of them smiled with deadly delight, and then looked at Strider.

"Well," Strider said. "This doesn't look good."

Shazzapanur's grating laugh echoed throughout the courtyard and both Thorkills and both Grod's joined in with their own laughter as they closed in on the Golden Shadow.

Demie, Calista and the Dwarven Cleric, Stoneheart who was sometimes called 'The Templar'. were standing just outside the Brothel doors discussing a course of action. Beans was hurrying towards the door to catch up with them.

"Beans isssss it?" Came a snake like voice from a corner of the room. She slowed as she turned in that direction.

A figure dressed in the striped cloak of a desert dweller, like a Mooren or a Peranien would wear, but tall, and slender much like the elfish races, stood half hidden in the shadows. His face was hidden deep within the hood of his cloak.

"Y-yes, um, sir?"

"Beans? What is Beans?" The man asked in his whispery voice as he slowly took a step closer.

"Beans, you know, the magical fruit." She said a bit shyly. The man slid closer. "The more you eat the more you...." then she farted. Her eyes popped wide and her face turned a slight red. "Oops," She giggled. "pardon me sir."

The cloaked one laughed. "No pardon neccessary little one." He stepped forward, his feet barely making a sound on the wooden flooring.

As he drew nearer his almond shaped eyes began to glow a light, hypnotic purple.

"Tell me girl. Someone left a parcel here in one of the rooms. Do you know of it?"

Beans began to stutter. "Ummm, well um..." Her eyes began to glaze over.

The hooded one laughed lightly. "Aaaaahhhhh I see you know of what I speakkkkk."

"Beans!" Came the commanding call of the Girl's boss, Demie, from outside. "Let's go!"

Beans shook and her eyes watered a bit. She wiped them clear and when she looked again, the mysterious hooded one was gone. Instinctively she patted the hidden pocket in her garb and still felt the parcel sitting safe and snug there. She turned quickly and headed out the door.

A soft slittering laugh echoed through the room. Other patrons and Damsels on duty continued on with their shenanigans not seeming to notice the strange glow eminating from the back hall.

Beans flew through the front door almost skidding into Stoneheart as he stood listening to Demie and Calista talk.

"Where did they go?" Calista asked. She paced back and forth looking down both dark streets waving a massive club she had nicknamed her 'Pimp beater'.

"They moved so fast." Demie said.

"Good, then we can forget about them." Young Beans interjected with a smile. "They won't cause any disturbance in the house Ma'am."

Stoneheart smiled at the lass and patted her on the shoulder. "The trouble is girl. Strider has promised to protect young Hjarten and he went after them."

"But he left earlier, with his lady." The three others laughed.

"You didn't see him in the rafters, spying on those three?" Demie asked.

"Thinking he was all invisible and shit." Calista spat.

"Yes, he was there and he left when they did." Templar added. "We need to make sure he is alright. He is one of our, er, members."

Demie gave the Dwarf a hard look.

"Members?" Beans asked.

"Oh, nothing girl, nothing at all."

Callista, still pacing back and forth was wired up for a fight. "Ok, enough chit chat, how are we going to find them?"

The madame of the house looked to her old friend, the Templar, with a wondering look. "Do you still have that piece of glass? The one from the ruins of that Desert Elf temple?"

"Temple ruins?" Beans asked as she edged in closer, her eyes glistening with excitement.

"Another tale to tell someday." Stoneheart said as he rumaged in his many cloak pockets and finally he lifted a small, flat disc of glass with cracked edges. "This once belonged in a great Elvish made mirror." He held it up so all could see.

"Remember dear," Demie continued. "Elves are sworn enemies of all Orcs and Goblins. Only here in Barad'Dun will you find them coexisting as our laws mandate all are welcome in our great city."

"The point is that whenever you look upon anything Orcish, or Goblinesk, you will see it glow blue in the glass."

The dwarf begans staring through the glass along both possible directions of the street. "And that includes footprints."

A set of large, square footprints glowing a dull blue, led off to the south and into an alley leading to the Hadash quarter.

"Quick, lets go before we are too late." Demie said and all hurried off following the Templar and his looking glass.

The two Thorkill charged immediately, screaming with delight as they barreled towards Strider. Leaping back with shield extended, he let them push him to the side, rolling in the direction of the Grod duo. Coming up to a knee he slashed out at the closest orc and nicked his chest. Grod let out a growl and swung his axe at the man, slamming into his shield. Barely turning his heater, Strider managed to unbalance the swing and quickly riposted his blade in an arc. A green hand flew away from the fight followed by the axe previously in its possession. The large orc stepped back stunned and let out a howl; the next orc immediately stepped in to slash at Strider. Hopping back, his jacket was torn by the vengeful axe.

The Norsemen were nearly upon Strider when he finally came to his feet. Circling to the side they had pincered him, ready for another chance to flay the man. Though bleeding profusely, the inured Grod had taken his weapon in his remaining hand.

"You will pay fo dis you slipp'ry bastard!" the orc screeched out gutturally.

"I'm not sure I've payed for a thing in my life." the Golden Shadow retorted, slyly smiling, masking his utter concentration.

His partner swooped in quickly for a shot at gimping the blonde man. Strider only had time to avoid serious injury as a small gash was made onto the front of his thigh. The two Thorkill swooped in next, taking positions high and low. Strider dove into the right most one, bashing him with his heater, knocking the wind out the man. The other of the pair quickly turned and swung his sword in retaliation. The blade barely missed face and met shield, sending Strider off his course towards the alley wall.

The man's back met brick with a hard thump, making it his turn to lose breath, though he had no time for a breather. The injured Grod screamed again. Lifting his axe high, he charged Strider with a berserker's rage. The rogue braced his foot against the wall waiting for the precise moment to strike. As soon as Grod was within a few yards, Strider pushed off the wall with all his might, thrusting his sword through the tough flesh of orcish face. He stumbled to the ground as he landed on his injured leg, his sword sliding out of Grod as he slumped to the cold ground. A bright, red light sparked out of the dead orc and seemed to retreat into the remaining Grod. Strider had been bracing himself with his shield while everyone observed the light display. Alas, they quickly turned their attention back to the fallen man.

As the trio remaining more hesitantly closed in on the man, a large, regal sounding "HALT!" emanated from the alleyway behind them. All turned to look into the black, beyond visibility. A small group of people had taken up the space between the buildings. Strider didn't have to ponder long before he made a logical assumption on who happened to be, somewhat, saving his hide. The welcome faces of Demie, Templar, Beans, and Calista emerged from the dark. The four came forward with weapons drawn, and Strider breathed a sigh of relief.

Calista suddenly charged screaming like a banshee, wielding her mighty club 'Pimp beater'. One Thorkill put up a shield and Calista hammered at it over and over, the man reeling back trying to get his balance. On the third blow the wood of the shield cracked and then another blow shattered it completely. He put up his sword to block the next blow but Calista had changed its trajectory so that it struck him horizontally across his chest. The man flew back in agony.

The remaining Grod lunged for her but she twirled the bat around her head and it struck him across the face and he too fell back. She was twirling the mighty bat keeping the three at bay as she side stepped to get closer to Strider. Not looking, she tripped over the limp, green corpse of the first Grod and topple off balance. She was able to spin around and throw up her arms just enough to land with a CRUMP on top of a startled Strider.

The second Throkill took this opportunity for a lunge with his Norse long sword that pierced through Calista's rump almost to the hilt of the blade. The woman whimpered. Strider could see both anger and tears in the Woman's face.

"Pretty boy." She said through gritted teeth. "Get up and get that son of a bitch!"

"Aye ma'dame. And thank you for coming to my aid." Stider kissed the lady then slid out from under her and popped back to his feet, blood still trailing the wound to his thigh.

This Thorkill was not about to let the man get ready. He stepped on Calista's bum and launched himself forward, leading with the edge of his shield aiming for strider's throat. notte was up in a flash, but the shield never connected. Instead it hit a wall of stone and shattered.

Thorkill was stunned, looking into the fierce eyes of of a seven foot Gollum made of hard black granite.

"Nightmare!" Came the welcome cries from Strider and his rescuers.

"That's right folks and I'm about to get my whoop ass on." The Gollum growled and charged forth, hurling a helpless Thorkill into his startled clone. Both Norsemen flew back into a jumbled heap.

The surviving Grod hesitated, then began to back away slowly. He turned to run only to be stopped by a trio of sharp blades held by Templar, Demie and Beans.

"Get out of Grod's way!" He yelled, charging forward!

"Dramatic Pause"

[Sorry for the long break, guys. I'm really no good at writing battle scenes.]

"I don't think so," said Beans, inching closer, desperately wanting to hold her oversized sword to Grod's throat.

He tried to push past the three, but with Nightmare approaching and Strider and Calista on their feet, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"Where's the boy?" Demie demanded.

"It's no use," said Strider, "He knows just as much as we do if not less."

"Doesn't mean we can't still use him later," Nightmare responded. With that, he grabbed a flailing Grod by his waist and hoisted him over his shoulder.
"There's no point strugglin'," he said, "I'm stone. It won't do much."

A movement was heard coming from the heap of limp Thorkill in the corner. A hand rose from the pile, still wielding its weapon. It was hard to see which one of them was still alive, but Calista limped, dragging her nearly dead leg over to the pile.

"I thought I told you to get that son of a bitch, Strider." She raised her club, and with intense power, she smashed it down on the hand. She continued to beat both bodies until blood splashed up onto her face. "Now," she said, glaring at Grod, "If you don't quit your strugglin', YOU'RE NEXT."

[See? No good at that.]