Yoman's Folly- blank stares and shrugs is the common response at mention this name in the Kingdom of Aldavir, even among the most knowledgable of scholars (admitedly there were few due to the the Great Purge few years ago; it all started when King Omarch the 7th, may st. Cuthbert bless he and his many offspring, was corrected by a Scholar about how fast an apple and an anvil would fall. The said scholar, not of his on violation, found himself under an anvil post haste).
Yoman, apparently a thinker and planner of great foresight, had founded his village, on where he expected the Kings Road to be built. Unfortunately, the fact that he had gotten his information from a drunken "lady" of dubious repute had been witheld from those who followed him there. Needless to say, there was no road. Hence, the little village existed in the middle of no where, with the occasional (even occasional being a stretch, the last being passer by was apparently some crazed explorer who had set off to map the Inpenetrable Forest of Black Death.)passerby. Anyway, none of this mattered to the residents of said village, much more concerned about where their next boiled potato was going to come from.
For the past few years, an ogre, a rather ferocious, grey and bloated thing of considerable girth and ugliness, has demanded monthly tribute. Since the demands were ale, sheep, and occasional mundane supplies, the village complied with these demands. The ogre was content
to collect his extorted goods, and leave the people alone.
However, last month, the tribute changed. In addition to ale and sheep, the ogre demanded gold and building materials!(the former in much short supply, curious thing as to what an ogre would do with gold in the middle of nowhere).
But the situation has grown even more grim. The ogre returned yesterday with yet more demands of ale and worse: people! The village is in an uproar and denied the ogre's request. The brute flew into a rage and grabbed two townsfolk and hauled them back to his lair. They're destined for his gullet, no doubt! The fact that one of the two was Alisa, the fairest of the fair, she who made men (and dwarves) week in the knees also might have increased the "uproar" (by village standards anyway- she did have good teeth, a claim few could make).
Bob was the other, but no one cared about Bob.
Hence the brave men and women? of the village had taken up arms (shovels, pitchforks, club); a rather large group it must be said, whose loss might cut the village poulation in half.
They gathered at the Broken Mug, where free ale was in full flow- it was well known that drinking made men braver (in fact the great Paladin Heronus the Just was always sloshed). They knew a little of the darned ogre- his cave was two miles away, in a hillock in the shape of a skull; bleating of sheep had been heard occasionally and apparently the darned beast liked to cook (smoke had been seen rising up through one of the "eyes" in the hillock.
Karly and Kaylin, two "attractive" and buxom sisters, served the wine and ale as "Lord" Merriweather, self appointed mayor, and the rest of the villagers gathered to give their berthen a fond farwell.
"Heresh to the brave heroes! We know you'll kill the beast!"yelled the mayor, the jowls under his chin quivering with each word. "hip hip horray" he cheered, echoed by the more subdued response of the villagers, half of whom looked a bit glum.
