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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.
Merlin tiredly pipes up "Yeah, heroes..." without much enthusiasm. Sadly, few wagon wheels had needed repair recently, despite all of the thankless hours he had spent dragging hard rocks into the middle of the road. His stomach gurgled fiercely; if he couldn't claim that sweet, sweet reward, it would be another supper of straw sandwiches tonight.
Jothy steps from foot to foot, wiping his palms as he stands with the other 'heroes'. Clearly not happy about being selected as a candidate.
Gus never wanted to be a hero. In fact he just followed the group to the Ogre's cave because his prize prettiest sheep Louise May chased after them and like Da always said, 'When a pretty one goes running, you ken bet the boys'll be chasin'.' And Louise May WAS his prettiest sheep and oh so friendly, so he went along with the group, just to get 'er back.
Then Bob got et. He liked Bob. Bob was kind to 'im, on account of Bob was a serial horse buggerer. Can't look down on a man for lovin' his sheep when you bugger horses, Gus reckoned.
So 'ere 'e was, with his sheep on a string finally and sittin' in the pub gettin' toasted and blasted and off to see that Ogre run off. His courage was just about fired up when the waitresses took away the beer and the lot of them marched out of the pub.
"Well," Gus said to his prettiest sheep, Louise May, "This adventurin' life bain't so bad, is it?"
"But I just recovered Bertha! The county fair is next week!" he complains incessantly.
"Well this is me new home, so, gots to defend it with me trusty hammer and tongs!"
Karly batted her eye lashes at Borger, placing a large drink in front of him. "You are soo brave," she said, winking at him, "when you come back, i'll have a special gift for you." She squeezed his thigh under the table.
Lunch was brought out; a feast by anyones reckoning. Sheep steak, boiled potatoes, and roasted beans. The meal was fabulous, to say the least, better than boiled leather any day. Soon the large group set off, albeit reluctantly to kill the beast and take his stuff, and maybe win a comely wife in the process.
After a two hour hike, the leering visage of Skulltop Hillock comes to view. It is a large weathered hill, the top of which is shaped like a humanoid skull including hollow depressions for eye sockets and a rough gaping maw. A small trail makes its way toward the ominous hillock, under the watchful void of the stone skull's eye sockets. The ground in front of the ogre's cave is trodden with many hoof prints, and barren of all vegetation. Clouds loom overhead ominously, although one does look like a fluffy bunny.
A large stone boulder, obviously used to block the cave entrance, has been pushed to the left. Beyond is a dark cave, perhaps 10 feet wide and 12 feet high. In the distance, the constant bleating of sheep can be discerned.
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Lunch was brought out; a feast by anyones reckoning. Sheep steak, boiled potatoes, and roasted beans.
"Oh. Look away, Louise May. It's nae anyone you ken."
Toma, preying on the good vibes of the other villagers and fattening his purse, follows the vigilante mob. Maybe he could wait in hiding for the ogre to eat them all, and sneak off with all their goods once it goes to sleep.
"Oh that poor girl, what will we do?" he says, hobbling along on his crutches.
He turns to another, "I wish I could be more help. Here, let me carry that for you. Save up your strength."
Roger makes his way towards the front of the pack, looking along the path for good stones for his sling and trying keep up the Mayor's pep talk.
"We can do this. Even an ogre can't be a match for us all. We'll just have to out smart it."
The smile fades a little as he looks around at his neighbors.
"Maybe we can lure it out. I wish we had time to dig a pit trap or something.
Fred falls back to the middle as we near the cave. The bravado that came with far too much wine has faded during the hike, replaced by a pounding headache.
He looks for an opportunity to slip away, but too many remember his boasts of his experiences driving such monsters away from the caravans.
"No Toma, I can carry it." More softly, "I know that dodge. You'll not be walking away with anything of mine.
"Hah. Chin up lads. We'll make short work of this foul behemoth. Just try not to trip on yer own feet, and we'll all make it home for dinner.
...or make an ogre's dinner in his very own home.
Hah! But don't you worry about that, my good Winston!" He shoves his nervous looking guard ahead of him.
"Come! Let us show this dumb beast who he's messed with!"
Toma moves closer to the back of the group, in order to make his crafty escape when the need arises.
Winston nearly stumbles over his feet as he's shoved forward. Tarnak's assuring smile seems to set him at ease somewhat, so he moves onward with a steadier step. He reaches up and scratches his head with his sword hand.
Amazingly, he avoids injury.
Allen, ever an eye for an opportunity to make a quick copper stays more less in the middle of the front of the pack. Let the first few people get there head's knocked off by the ogre while I go rescue Alisa. She is sure to thank me...at some length. He smiles at that thought, watching the others carefully, as well as where he steps. No sense in getting my leg broken now.
"I don't know why I'm here."
From the back of the crowd you hear a whining voice.
"I don't know why any of us are here. Monsters like this wouldn't dare approach even the smallest elven village.
Even we have soldiers and guards here. Why don't they handle this like they're supposed to."
Merlin buys a 10' pole and a day's worth of rations.
His nephew Boulder buys 50' of rope and a day's worth of rations and admires himself in his mirror.
Boulder's blood-brother Zzolo buys a 10' pole and a flask of oil.
Once they're loaded for bear, they head out pushing Merlin's battle-wagon (a.k.a. cart full of straw) in front of them.
Boulder drapes his deer hide around his body to form crude armor, and Merlin stuffs his shirt and pants with straw to deaden any ogrish blows.
Merlin suggests: "If we can corner 'im, we can burn him to a crisp with a cartload of burning straw, by Gar!"
"Well they sent us. I was recently conscripted...though not for my...attributes as a soldier."
"You mean there's folk who'll go and kill this thing without us? Where are they then? I just came 'long to fetch me sheep, is all." Gus pulls Louise Mae's leash closer.
"That's a nice ewe you gots thar Gus, check out Bertha muh prize winning hen...she's so well trained lis'n t'how quiet she be in the trunk"Borgmer says as he opens up the trunk to fetch his hen, only to find she's passed on, flown the coop, pushing up daisies, she wouldn't Voom if you put 4 million volts through her.
Something in Borgmer snaps, a grim determination crosses his face...
"Let's go!"
"That's a nice ewe you gots thar Gus, check out Bertha muh prize winning hen...she's so well trained lis'n t'how quiet she be in the trunk"Borgmer says as he opens up the trunk to fetch his hen, only to find she's passed on, flown the coop, pushing up daisies, she wouldn't Voom if you put 4 million volts through her.
Something in Borgmer snaps, a grim determination crosses his face...
"Let's go!"
"Oh, mate. 'Tis a sorrow when a loved one dies, tain't it? Best not to run off 'alfcocked, tho'."
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"So, do we go charging blindly into the beast's lair and try to corner him, or do we try to lure him out into the open where we can all get at him. I'm for the second. It's not like we've crept up on him all quiet like..."
If we do go in the front door, Roger will fall back. Fred will draw his sword and get pushed towards the front.
Borgmer readies his pitchfork...
"WE should hadda torch!"
Jothy readies his shield and spear; wishing he had at least a suit of leather armor.
"I heard Ogres regenerate! Wish I had me forge here."
Zzolo takes a sheaf of straw from Merlin's cart and forms it into a crude torch, which he then ignites with his flint and steel. "Verily, I saith enter the hill of woe and burn yon ogre to cinders."
Dutifully, Merlin pushes his cart in the lead, followed by Zzolo and Boulder.
"...dang ogres..."
*picks his nose*
Steps in...
I thought there were sposeda be an oggr in here...
*starts fiddlin with his flint and steel, unaware that he's standing next to Merlin's cart.*