Nord-Squeal:
"You... bastard... I... will... end you...
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"Oink" Nordspeak: What fresh hell is this? Another creature to prod me or deduce whether I have died anon? If you wish me dead so much, you will come by that objective at high cost, you mark my words! Curse and damn your eyes!
Gods, what is that figure? It strums a chord my mind has not experienced in many moons. That bare skull, that devil-may-care attitude towards munitions... that grin. Oh, that foul grin -- I thought I had witnessed the worst but Zarongel proves yet again to be the bastard humans report him to be. So... the one called Mogmurch... what will it be? Am I to be your slave yet again? Perhaps some shred of mercy exists in what qualifies as a heart and I may yet slip these surly bonds of mortality. Or is your work darker yet?
Leave it to this scum to snatch defeat from the hands of victory. I do hope he dies last, though I have my doubts.
Enjoy the mud, you filthy animal.
The foul winch used my ears as reins... why I should come to expect honor from their likes is beyond me.
Squealy Nord consumes Poog's offering with gusto. "Snort, snort." Nordspeak:
"Your offering... is acceptable. I promise to make your personal experience in this demeaning ritual less demanding." Pickled potatoes. Erastil, is there nothing these philistines wouldn't ferment in this vile bog water?
I shan't be tamed by the likes of you! Begone and recount your sins!
And so my trials begin anon. Come at me, you devil, and I shall make sure you leave this ring with two skulls exposed!
Squealy Nord's head snaps toward the goblin speaking in oinks and snorts. "Oink."
Nordspeak: "You speak the tongue of my forebearers? We porcine are a proud race and your kind have subjugated me to this pit, offering only your detritus as nourishment. My captors will soon find that mine is the fury, blast and damn their eyes.
"The Licktoads seek to humiliate me once more, do they not? I can smell it in the air; the prelude to a great corpse feast. This one shall bide his time and watch his slavers be their own ruination. "You, you presumptuous cur, I shall spare your life when the Great Undoing occurs, if but you present me some victuals not consisting of the flesh of your peers. I may even choose to mitigate your embarrassment these eve. "I await your acceptance of this more than generous offer."
Sweet Erastil, what ever have I done to deserve such loathsome accommodations? A minor transgression as a babe should not warrant this vile punishment? The shells of these green, wretched, filthy monsters are what you have chosen for me to dine on in eternity? Lo, they bring the rope once more. I pray it fits my neck too tightly so that I my finally slip my bonds from this miserable existence. "Oink." |