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A sudden flurry of activity from Aso as he thrashes around on the floor and grunts.
In the final throes of Aso's attempt, he observes another normal being as it weakly attempts to escape. Missive to Issiki, in rusty halfling:
Spoiler:
Aso help c... c... c... cooperate escape before b... b... bigjobs put into cages again.
The halflings want to eat everybody. Bugs should be r... r... roasted. Or you can deep fry in spl... spl... spleen oil and it softens the sh... shell which is vitamin r... r... rich. I prefer my elves with sweet and s... s... sour, and... in fact human t... t... t... tastes almost the same. But don't eat those old elves, they pick up too many environm... m... m... mental to..to... to... to... toxins. And they're t... t... t...*ack* really tough. The bird is delicious no matter how you cook him, but I would suggest a rich c... c... c... cream sauce. R... r... r.. right now, I got my eye on that bigjob, *points at Radik* th... th... that's a lotta m... m... m... meat!
Spoiler:
What is there really to say about the appearance of an unwashed, naked halfling with dreads and a flea infestation. His stare is intense and unflinching. His small and seemingly delicate bones are belied by thick cords of muscle. Sure, he stinks and his penis looks tiny--but Zuko has soap, and when you see the morning wood you won't be calling this dog-boy a halfling.
Aso's last memory is being struck from the front, square in the head, by something long and hard just as he glanced behind--luckily his skull proved harder than the obstacle. Going back from that electric moment: memories of hot wind in his hair, cooked meat hanging in mud-baked kiosks, the brush of people, robes, sweat, the sand and gravel beneath his pounding feet, the shouts of pursuers, elation--it had been too long. Only days before his debut in the gladiatorial pits: his escape from the geek cage. A glorious memory! The start of his brief but joyous freedom. Other memories, farther back: the cage where he had spent years pitted against animal after animal, the bray of gamblers, the bite of stones, sleep after sleep: terrible nightmares fading into the distant past. The woods, the smell of fresh water, moss, cool breezes, the caress of his mother, learning to hunt with his father: all echoes, memories of memories. Watch out for this little dog of a man, readers; a day in the geek cage meant slaughtering deadly predators with only tooth and claw. His food: the skin, meat, or limbs he could tear off--his drink: the blood he could siphon... but only before the animals he killed could be dragged out by their chains to be eaten by the fat and the weak. A round-belly day for Aso was when he slaughtered an animal so large the handlers could not manage to get it out without being savaged. Those days they let him gnaw at it until he became slow enough that a brave man dared open the lid and drag the dead carcass out while prodding the gorged halfling off with spears. And how he has traveled! From week to week they moved him in his own wagon from town to city and back, bagging coins and sometimes even rinsing his cage out with sand. But never, ever, my friends, did men ever stand close to Aso's pen... well, not after the first time, anyway. And now readers, a little social advice for anyone who picks up this sinuous and urine-reeking stray, or gods help you, for anyone followed home by him. When he does decide to talk, he stutters: do not finish his sentences for him. And never touch Aso while he is eating--don't even look at his food--not that you'd want to. And you'd best keep your shiny things hidden while he's around, not that he's much of a thief, but now and then he reckons it to be his and then you've got serious problems.
This is why I am asking. 5d4, no min, matched after the roll as per invisible castle procedures: (ED: I find that obscenely unbalancing. That's worth 39 points.)
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