The Savage Caves - Chapter 3
The Savage Caves: Original Story by T.H. Lain
A Fan-Fiction Reimagining: Walthus Proudstump
Rezrek brought the spiked warhammer down hard, the deadly point finding purchase in the bowed head of a cowering goblin. The metal pierced the whimpering creature’s skull with a nauseating, wet noise and the body collapsed to the stone floor. The massive bugbear loomed over the three foot tall, grey-skinned humanoid and tore the spike from the dead creature’s head; at that point it was an unrecognizable mess of gore. Bone and blood splattered the surrounding goblins, flecking their horrified faces with brain matter as they shifted away - they babbled in their annoying little language and the brutish Rezrek screamed at them.
“Rezrek chieftain!”
Silence fell over the gathered goblins in the cave.
His understanding of their language was limited but he knew enough to get his point across. That and the extreme violence he’d visited upon any dissenters quelled any attempts at resistance. Death was swift and merciless in the dark caves, only dimly lit by the luminous mushrooms and lichen that the goblin tribe used as food alongside the blind fish from the underground lake. Rezrek had spent the last few weeks moving through the complex system of caves and vertical shafts that made up the home of the Cavedeep Goblin Tribe. His group of bugbears had spared little time with conversation and set about brutalizing the native goblins, bringing the five smaller tribes to heel easily enough.
The former chieftain, Arzerg, was a tall and lean goblin who had seen many years and carried a small stone wrapped in shaped bone around his neck - an amulet the goblins said could be used to control the only other numerous species in the caves, spiders. Great, man-sized spiders that had spun webs all over the caves and that the goblins had lived in peace with for as long as any of them remembered. Rezrek had squeezed the life from Arzerg as his little feet kicked and he vainly clawed at the much larger creature’s forearm. The body was tossed down a refuse pit the goblins used. Arzerg’s son, Tazerg, was lean like his father but put up no resistance when Rezrek declared himself chieftain.
As the nine foot tall bugbear stepped forward, his heavy boot crushing the dead body of the goblin he’d just killed, he leered forward. The sound of bones shifting and breaking beneath a great weight filled the place. Two bugbears stood behind him, their arms crossed and silently staring at the assembled mass of nearly twenty goblins. These weren’t all of the little creatures but they were those skilled in riding the spiders. Tazerg was among them. He kept his eyes down but Rezrek could sense the hate the little one had for him. He’d watched the bugbear crush the life out of his father and kill more than a dozen of his kin.
Good, Rezrek thought. He fears me. He should. They all should!
He grumbled with laughter, digging his heel into the mess of goblin beneath him and took a step back.
“Two goblins,” he said. He held up two thick hairy fingers ending in filthy black claws. “Two goblins go to surface with spiders. Bring sheep - bugbears hungry! Rezrek hungry!” His voice echoed in the chamber and the goblins nodded, shaking with fear as his eyes scanned them. Tazerg didn’t move.
The bugbears had eaten through the stores of preserved fish the goblins had. The mushrooms and lichen tasted foul to Rezrek and he wanted meat. He knew that the humans in Fairbye had sheep and they belonged to him. He was the chieftain of the Cavedeep Goblins. And the land above the caves was his as well. Or at least it would be soon, He smiled his yellow fanged grin, wiping away the drool that rolled down his lip. Two goblins raised their hands and Rezrek directed one of the other bugbears, a foul-smelling warrior named Dulf, forward. The bugbear’s fur was lice infested and reeked of stale piss; Rezrek had never known Dulf to be in water and had avoided rain when they’d traveled outside. He carried a nasty looking morning star at his side he claimed to take from a sibling he killed but Rezrek was doubtful.
Dulf wasn’t a good warrior. He was too slow. In arm and mind.
The stinking bugbear pulled out a small jar from his pack; it was a ceramic container, cracked and repaired in certain places. As he pulled the top off a wave of disgust showed on the faces of the goblins and the other bugbear. The foul smelling red paste that Dulf scooped out with his fingers was disgusting. Rezrek didn’t know what was in it and the smell burned his nose. But his face was blank as the bugbear painted the goblins who volunteered. He marked their faces, making one of the goblins gag for a moment. Then he made a pattern on their chest - it looked like teeth or maybe the entrance to a cave; a circle of lines pointing inward.
“Now, take spiders. Go! Return with sheep or do not come back.” Dulf gestured to the two and the scampered away, nervously looking back at the other goblins they left behind. They lingered for a moment on Tazerg and disappeared into the cave. The darkness didn’t bother Rezrek; he could see perfectly fine in the pitch black of the underground. But the soft blue light the mushrooms and lichen gave off made his head swim if he looked too long at them. He didn’t like that. The great bugbear pointed to the corpse and spoke in his broken goblin.
“Take this meat to the pit! Ripper is hungry. Rezrek is hungry.” He smiled and snapped his jaws at the goblins.
A goblin moved to touch the dead tribemate and Rezrek growled at him. He shifted back, looking confused and unsure. Rezrek pointed at Tazerg and the dead chieftain's son slunk forward and started to pick up the body. Rezrek got down into the little goblin’s face, letting his hot fetid breath wash over the weakling. Tazerg didn’t budge or blink, merely kept his big orange eyes away from Rezrek’s. So close to the goblin, Rezrek knew the amulet he’d taken from his father was inches from Tazerg. He caught the goblin looking at it and sneered.
“You want amulet, Tazerg?” He taunted.
Tazerg said nothing. He did nothing.
“Challenge me,” Rezrek said in a low and menacing voice. “Take amulet. Do it.”
“No,” Tazerg said in the goblin language, shaking his head but still not looking in Rezrek’s eyes. The goblin’s arms were at his side, resting on the modest cloth he wore around his waist. When the bugbears had come this was adorned with bones of fish and shaped into symbols the goblins believed gave luck and strength. Rezrek had destroyed all of them. He was their strength - he was their god.
“What?” Rezrek shouted this, startling all of the goblins but Tazerg.
“Rezrek,” Tazerg said, loud enough for the other goblins to clearly hear him, “stronger. Strongest. Goblins weak.”
“Tazerg weak?” Rezrek said, bringing his face right into Tazerg’s. Their eyes had to meet.
Tazerg nodded. “Tazerg…weak.”
Rezrek leaned back and laughed, a full belly laugh that was mirrored by Dulf and the other bugbear, Fidul. The wheezing Fidul had been stabbed in the neck but lived and had lost his voice. He could still laugh, though. And growl.
“Good. Good,” the massive bugbear said as he placed a hand on Tazerg’s shoulder. “Tazerg never forget. He is weak. Rezrek strong!”
The two bugbears chanted “Rezrek” and the goblins joined in, as did Tazerg. Rezrek gave the little goblin a shove so hard he fell backwards and hit his head on the stone floor. The goblin winced and cried out. Rezrek laughed again, motioning for both of the bugbears to follow him.
As he left, Rezrek didn’t see Tazerg stand, his face curling into a mask of rage. He didn’t see the little goblin’s fist clench and he didn’t hear the goblin speak to his tribemates in the darkness of their home.
Tazerg shifted the dead weight of Gunln’s corpse over the edge of the pit; he’d dragged the body of his friend down into the lowest level of the Cavedeep Tribe’s home, past the tunnels of webs and the skittering of the spiderlings. The other goblins offered to help but he’d refused. They all knew what lay in the pit, what Rezrek had brought with them, and Tazerg didn’t want them to see. And he was sad - he didn’t want them to see that. It felt like ages since the bugbears came, killed his father and stole his birthright. The amulet was his! His father’s father’s father’s and all the fathers before that had held it. The stone inside let them speak into the mind of the Spider Mother and direct her brood. They used it to live peacefully for all of Tazerg’s life and now Rezrek and the bugbears had come - killing and taking, eating and plotting to kill hu-mans. Tazerg didn’t even know what a hu-man was and he didn’t care. If they didn’t bother the Cavedeep Goblin, why would he care? He was happy. Before. But now, as he watched his friend’s body laying at the bottom of the pit and heard the snarling of Ripper, he just felt sad. And angry. He turned away before Ripper emerged. The vicious sound of tearing, chewing and swallowing followed soon after. Tazerg felt sick to his stomach. Ripper was always hungry. Two, three, four goblin bodies wasn’t enough. Ripper ate and ate and ate. Like Rezrek and the bugbears. They ate so much. No food for the Cavedeep Goblins. Tazerg was hungry and his stomach grumbled for food. He knew that Rezrek had returned to the chamber Tazerg once slept in; where his father slept. Tazerg’s mother had died a long time ago from a cursed fish she’d eaten and Tazerg missed his father. He wanted to see him again but he knew he was dead. He clenched his little fists and imagined pushing a shard of stone into Rezrek’s eye. He smiled at that thought. But he would need to be careful. Rezrek needed to die. And the other bugbears. But the goblins were scared and scared goblins were no good at fighting. They had been scared when the bugbears came and smashed their skulls, killed their mates and threw their littles into the underground lake. So much crying, Tazerg hated the crying. The tribes fought amongst themselves often but never to kill. They pushed back places where other goblins could stay and took it but that never lasted. It always changed. But no goblin would kill another goblin’s little. That was bad. Too bad. The bugbears were too big. Too strong. Rezrek was too strong. But Tazerg was angry and he would kill the big bugbear even if it meant dying himself. He swore it in the dark. Tazerg leaned against the wall. The cool stone felt good against his sweat slick skin and he grumbled softly to himself, sounding almost like a purring little when held. Carrying Gunln’s body was hard work. He was tired. Tired from being angry. Tired from hating. He thought of how to kill Rezrek. He needed Rezrek to trust him. He would have to do bad things to get that trust but it was worth it. Worth it if Rezrek died. Tazerg shifted forward, the snapping of bone filling his ears as he moved away from the pit room. Goblins had died here. Rezrek liked to watch the goblins fight Ripper. It wasn’t a fight, though. Just goblins dying. Eaten. Ripped up. He needed to talk to some of the goblins. But only the right ones. Some goblins wanted to serve Rezrek, not just say they did. He hated those goblins. They were so scared they would kill other goblins, and did, if they thought it would make Rezrek happy. Those goblins he hated the most of all. Kill your own. It made Tazerg angry again and he slapped the cave wall with his little hand, dragging his small claws against the stone. He would kill them. Then he would kill Rezrek. He just had to be patient. In the darkness of the caves, Tazerg walked the familiar paths of his home and thought.
Chapter 3
Tazerg shifted the dead weight of Gunln’s corpse over the edge of the pit; he’d dragged the body of his friend down into the lowest level of the Cavedeep Tribe’s home, past the tunnels of webs and the skittering of the spiderlings. The other goblins offered to help but he’d refused. They all knew what lay in the pit, what Rezrek had brought with them, and Tazerg didn’t want them to see. And he was sad - he didn’t want them to see that. It felt like ages since the bugbears came, killed his father and stole his birthright. The amulet was his! His father’s father’s father’s and all the fathers before that had held it. The stone inside let them speak into the mind of the Spider Mother and direct her brood. They used it to live peacefully for all of Tazerg’s life and now Rezrek and the bugbears had come - killing and taking, eating and plotting to kill hu-mans. Tazerg didn’t even know what a hu-man was and he didn’t care. If they didn’t bother the Cavedeep Goblin, why would he care? He was happy. Before. But now, as he watched his friend’s body laying at the bottom of the pit and heard the snarling of Ripper, he just felt sad. And angry. He turned away before Ripper emerged. The vicious sound of tearing, chewing and swallowing followed soon after. Tazerg felt sick to his stomach. Ripper was always hungry. Two, three, four goblin bodies wasn’t enough. Ripper ate and ate and ate. Like Rezrek and the bugbears. They ate so much. No food for the Cavedeep Goblins. Tazerg was hungry and his stomach grumbled for food. He knew that Rezrek had returned to the chamber Tazerg once slept in; where his father slept. Tazerg’s mother had died a long time ago from a cursed fish she’d eaten and Tazerg missed his father. He wanted to see him again but he knew he was dead. He clenched his little fists and imagined pushing a shard of stone into Rezrek’s eye. He smiled at that thought. But he would need to be careful. Rezrek needed to die. And the other bugbears. But the goblins were scared and scared goblins were no good at fighting. They had been scared when the bugbears came and smashed their skulls, killed their mates and threw their littles into the underground lake. So much crying, Tazerg hated the crying. The tribes fought amongst themselves often but never to kill. They pushed back places where other goblins could stay and took it but that never lasted. It always changed. But no goblin would kill another goblin’s little. That was bad. Too bad. The bugbears were too big. Too strong. Rezrek was too strong. But Tazerg was angry and he would kill the big bugbear even if it meant dying himself. He swore it in the dark. Tazerg leaned against the wall. The cool stone felt good against his sweat slick skin and he grumbled softly to himself, sounding almost like a purring little when held. Carrying Gunln’s body was hard work. He was tired. Tired from being angry. Tired from hating. He thought of how to kill Rezrek. He needed Rezrek to trust him. He would have to do bad things to get that trust but it was worth it. Worth it if Rezrek died. Tazerg shifted forward, the snapping of bone filling his ears as he moved away from the pit room. Goblins had died here. Rezrek liked to watch the goblins fight Ripper. It wasn’t a fight, though. Just goblins dying. Eaten. Ripped up. He needed to talk to some of the goblins. But only the right ones. Some goblins wanted to serve Rezrek, not just say they did. He hated those goblins. They were so scared they would kill other goblins, and did, if they thought it would make Rezrek happy. Those goblins he hated the most of all. Kill your own. It made Tazerg angry again and he slapped the cave wall with his little hand, dragging his small claws against the stone. He would kill them. Then he would kill Rezrek. He just had to be patient. In the darkness of the caves, Tazerg walked the familiar paths of his home and thought.
New Koratia, Current Year 575
Readying (Spring) 27, Earthday
“We’ve made good time,” Regdar said as they crested a small hill that overlooked the hamlet of Fairbye. The place was actually surrounded by hills on all sides, with tiny little roads leading to small farmlands dotting the hinterlands. Nestled in a valley between the rocky hills, called the “Little Breaks”, it looked like a sleepy place. The hills steadily grew larger as they moved away from Fairbye, forming the feet of a considerable mountain chain called The Merciless Range. This was many, many miles off though. In the distance to the north, both he and Jozan could see the looming form of a great tower. They stopped for a bit to marvel at its height. Jozan guessed it was fifty meters tall, at least. It stood like a great needle jutting from the surrounding landscape and the sight of it made the warrior’s skin go gooseflesh. He’d never understood magic, though he’d certainly seen and experienced it enough; he carried two potions from his mercenary days that would heal wounds, just in case. Such magic had saved his life - the sword to the throat during his ‘initiation’ with The Bastards might’ve been a fatal one without magic healing the wound. But were people even meant to have that kind of power? The thought of a powerful wizard looking out from a tower down at all the common folk, him included, was not a comforting thought. So high up, how could people look like anything but ants? And if they looked like ants, who's to say they wouldn’t be treated like ants? Jozan said he had magic and he seemed a decent sort, if a little awkward; likely he’d not spent much time around people outside of his church’s cloister so it made sense to Regdar. But he’d heard tales of wizards isolating themselves and doing all manner of strange things. Surely some of them were just tall tales. But were all of them? He shook the thought away as Jozan pointed forward. The priest had spotted a small farming plot, more like an oversized vegetable garden and Regdar noticed it was quiet. There was no movement from the place, the garden or the little house that was adjoining it. There wasn’t much there it looked like - the green poking up from the ground could be turnips or cabbage, both were harvested during this time. And neither was something Regdar enjoyed. But it was the morning. They’d risen early, Jozan looking a little bleary-eyed and set out. They’d arrived at the edge of Fairbye in less time than expected and it was strange that there was no one here. A tickle touched the back of Regdar’s neck and he knew it wasn’t the feeling of the tower this time. Something felt off. He shifted on Butterbean, reaching for his long bow just in case he needed to. It was a composite long bow, which was traditionally made from horn, wood, and sinew laminated together to allow the archer to take better advantage of their strength. There was a small quiver of arrows there as well, and as he scooped them up he spoke in a low voice to Jozan. The priest also looked like he sensed something was wrong. “Careful.” The guff warrior mentioned. “Where are the farmers?” Jozan’s voice was soft. Regdar grunted. “I was thinking the same. Good eyes, priest.” “Hard to miss when it’s that obvious.” He nodded. “But thank you.” “I can scout around.” Regdar pointed to the tall scrubgrass that surrounded the farmstead and also pointed in the direction of Fairbye. “Or we could leave it - go straight into Fairbye and see what is happening.” Jozan thought for a long moment. “How familiar are you with the area?” Regdar shrugged. “Do you know if it could be a festival? That would draw the people away from their homes.” “It doesn’t feel like that to me,” the warrior commented, beginning to slip from his saddle as his eyes scanned the horizon for possible threats. He’d served as a scout years before and his keen eyes had saved him more times than he could recall. If he needed too, he could doff his armor and be silent enough. Just as his first foot left the stirrup, they both turned their heads towards Fairbye and the sound of people. At first it sounded like cheering - maybe Jozan’s thought about a festival was right. Maybe the farm was quiet because those living there had gone into town to celebrate. But the sound quickly became clear. It wasn’t cheering. It was yelling. Angry yelling. Regdar shifted Butterbean and started forward, Jozan following awkwardly after. The warrior shifted the bow back down but kept his hand near his sword. Drawing from horseback was not easy with the length of his weapon but he could do it if needed. It was only a handful a minutes before the source of the yelling came into view. There were several dozen buildings in all, wattle and daub. There wasn’t much to the hamlet but some of the homes had little fences surrounding them and personal gardens with a scant number of vegetables inside. There were a few cows, a pig or two and nearly two dozen chickens pecking around amongst the various little houses. Jozan noticed, pointing out to Regdar as they passed, a small stone altar to Pelor. “How can you tell,” the warrior asked, looking at the eroded stone. It looked like a stone with a hole at the top. “The sunlight passes through and is blessed by the stone; a priest some many years ago must’ve said a blessing over the stone and the people just left it. It seems no one has passed through here in quite some time, at least no one with the desire to clean it up.” The thing was covered in moss and overgrowth, several dozen meters off the little packed dirt road leading into the hamlet. Regdar could still see a few puddles of stagnant mud that hadn’t yet dried from the rain a couple days ago. Flies buzzed over them. Closer now, the two men could hear the sound of yelling growing soft and rising, over and over. As if people were arguing. They could see the backs of a dozen people and someone gesturing atop something but they’d need to get closer. A handful of shops, surprising for the size of the little place, and a decent sized inn were clustered around what must’ve been the hamlet square. In the center was a communal well and a crowd of what appeared to be peasants that numbered at least a hundred. “It seems the entire town has come out,” Jozan said. Regdar believed him. It must’ve been the whole of the place, all together in their little square. They moved forward, though their approach was cautious. Regdar didn’t like this and he cautioned Jozan, who heeded the older man’s warning. The crowd looked to have just as many women standing in it as it did men, some quite old. And there was no shortage of children, either, of all ages. Some were clearly near adulthood but others were toddlers, holding the hand of a parent or an older sibling. They all wore simple clothing but the colors didn’t match the homespun nature of the peasantry - at least not that Regdar expected. The colors were more vivid. More defined. They reminded him of the merchant they’d passed, Debin, and they must’ve been his reason for celebration. Though surely they couldn’t have all made clothing that fast? Most of the men were holding various farming implements; pitchforks for hay, a few sickles and other things. With the yelling and the farming tools, Regdar got the intense impression that something was very wrong. He could feel Jozan’s unease as well. The warrior stiffened in his saddle and instinctively reached to draw his blade. He felt a strong desire to dismount and be ready for whatever might be about to happen. Riding into this with naked steel, he thought, is probably not the best idea. Even if they were untrained peasants, there were far more of them than just he and Jozan. He’d seen what a group of people could do, even when unarmed. All the training and experience in the world, and whatever magic Jozan had, wouldn’t save them from an angry mob if they decided they needed to kill them. He took a deep breath and Regdar felt himself settle into the familiar headspace of his past; battle readiness. He felt his skin tingle and his senses heighten with a higher attention. He’d need quick thinking and he would need Jozan to listen to him. In a low voice, Regdar spoke. “If this is something bad, we can’t overcome this many people - no matter what, we need to flee.” The priest nodded, looking nervous but focused on the words. “Agreed.” “You push your horse hard, stay on it. I’ll bring up the rear - I’m a stronger rider and could slip them if I need to. You can’t.” He didn’t say it as an insult. He only spoke the truth. Jozan nodded. “Understood.” They quickened their pace, since the villagers were saying something but it was still too far to piece it together in the yelling. As the two approached the back of the crowd, the picture of what was happening became clearer, as did the yelling. “Guilty!” The peasants were facing a crudely constructed gallows and which stood a rotund figure dressed in an ill-fitting coat. At one point the garment might have shimmered, its green and yellow surface now old and faded. And no longer matching the bulk of the man who wore it. The man was clearly sweating, profusely, in the morning sunlight and his hair was wet. He looked unkempt. And red-faced, winded. On the gallows, beside the man, was a little girl standing to his right. Regdar could barely make her head out over the heads of the crowd of people but it immediately made his stomach drop. “Hang the bitch!” The yell came from an old woman, surrounded by several others. She threw her hand up and the crowd around her surged with agreement, repeating the statement several times. “The little girl?” Regdar couldn’t understand what was happening. His blade was half out of its sheath when Jozan held up his hand to stop him, the priest’s face serious. Regdar stopped. “That’s no child,” Jozan said. “They mean to hang a halfling.” The men moved closer and Regdar saw that Jozan was right. Standing next to the heavy man, was a halfling woman whose tiny build made her look like a human child. Were she in a crowd passing by, Regdar didn’t think he could tell the difference. She wore elaborate leathers and had her long, auburn hair tied tightly into a ponytail. Her hands were bound behind her back and a noose danglied loosely from around her thin neck. The scene looked unreal to the old warrior and he drew in a deep breath. The rope was thrown over the gallows and it was clear, they meant to hang this woman. The sweaty man walked back and forth, trying to quiet the still cheering crowd. “Good people,” he shouted above them. It was just loud enough to quiet them. “Good neighbors, we are not murderers.” There was a murmur of agreement. “The halfling woman who calls herself Lidda has been accused of egregious thievery and will face honest punishment.” The halfling woman scoffed loudly and drew the shouts of the crowd again. She turned her face away. Regdar and Jozan reached the beginning of the crown atop their horses. Only a few people on the edges noticed them but they all recognized the priestly vestments that Jozan wore. Several bowed and some just looked away, their faces uncertain. The halfling woman rolled her eyes and shifted her neck in the noose. “This is so itchy! Couldn’t spring for the good rope, huh?” She said almost nonchalantly. Regdar was amazed at how relaxed the woman was. He got the distinct impression that she had been in this situation at least once before. Likely more, he mused sourly. The two men dismounted, shifting forward in the crowd to get closer to the gallows. People moved aside, giving them plenty of space. Regdar still felt uneasy being surrounded by so many people, obviously hungry for blood. He kept his hand from his blade. The halfling woman spoke again, indignation in her small voice as she scanned the crowd. She looked at the villagers, moving her nimble eyes to each one and it seemed as if she spoke to each individually. “No trial, no evidence. Just backwater idiots dispensing mob justice on an INNOCENT WOMAN!” she shouted this last part and the crowd yelled again, many shaking their farm implements and fists in the air. “Shameful, really!” “Oh!” An elderly man said, waving towards the halfling woman and scoffing. “Let her swing already!” A burst of laughter followed and the fat man threw his hands up, obviously tired of arguing with the crowd. Lidda spit on the boards of the gallows and aggressively shifted forward. The crowd gasped and then surged again with anger, the large man pulling her back with his chubby fingers and roughly handling her. “Get your hands off of me you bastard,” she shouted as she tried to wriggle free of him. She kicked her little legs at him but he easily dodged them. “What are the charges?” Jozan called, loud enough to be heard of the shouting. The man’s eyes locked with Jozan’s and the color drained from his face. He looked at all the parts of a pig that had been bled dry before butchering. He let go of the halfling, who gave his leg a swift kick. He winced and shifted away. “You sweaty palmed pervert!” She said sharply. The entire crowd turned their attention to the two men and Regdar broke out into a sweat, which rolled down his back and made his armor feel all the heavier. He was convinced the villagers would turn on him and he was trying to figure out how to create enough space for them to get back to their horses and keep Jozan from being killed. And hopefully himself as well. The people froze, their eyes glued to the priest. Several members of the mob whispered amongst themselves, saying that the presence of a priest of Pelor meant the god was blessing the hanging. Regdar doubted that. His hand had fallen to his sword but he moved it. “What are the charges?” Jozan repeated, his voice clear but a little unsteady. “A priest of Pelor,” the man on the poorly constructed gallows said loudly. “Come to bless the justice we serve here today!” “Ha!” Lidda laughed and drew more hissing from the crowd. “Oh shut up,” she hissed back at them. “Pelor,” Jozan called back, “does not bless lynchings, good sir.” “Bergur Tomah.” A child whispered it to Jozan and the little one’s mother placed her hand over his mouth. Bergur. Head man. This was the mayor of their little hamlet. Regdar watched as Jozan, like a great ship pushing the ocean away from it, parted the crowd and approached the gallows. He stopped within several feet and looked up at Bergur Tomah and Lidda. “What has this woman done, Bergur Tomah, to deserve death?” Jozan's question was level and his tone severe. “Ah,” the head man started, as if excited to recount the crimes this woman had committed. “This woman has stolen many things from these goodly people,” he began and was cut off by the crowd shouting all at once. “She stole a bracelet given to me by my husband!” said a woman, whose husband nodded in agreement. “And several casks of beer!” Another person chimed in. Beer, thought Regdar. Hmm. “And money - some of us are missing money!” “Yes, money!” The crowd yelled, surging again around Jozan and Regdar took a step forward in case he needed to lurch forward and pull the smaller priest back. The Bergur nodded. “Numerous charges.” “Ah,” Jozan said. “But that you could hang her numerous times, then.” The sarcasm was clear but the support for that comment rippled through the crowd with loud approval. Regdar saw Jozan shake his head. The halfling woman looked down at Jozan with contempt. She expressed mock sympathy and spoke. “Oh, thank you so much father. Maybe you’d like to come up on stage with me and just, I don’t know, bash my skull in with your mace? Get this whole thing over with.” The last part of her comment was biting and vicious as she stared hate at Jozan. Regdar had to admit, he was impressed with her gall. The woman was something - small as she was. It made him smile despite the situation. A man in the crowd called out. “Yeah, do it father!” Jozan turned on the man and the look on his face made Regdar clench his jaw; the priest looked positively mortified by the suggestion. He stared the man down, despite him being taller than the priest, and the farmer backed away a few steps under the glare of the holy man. Other villagers whispered in response to the withering gaze Jozan gave him but said nothing aloud. “Um,” Bergur Tomah began. Jozan turned to regard the man and held up a hand high, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. When Jozan spoke it was with righteous conviction and Regdar was taken aback at the power of his words. “There is a justice in the world. One that is greater than the rule of the mob”, he emphasized this last word as he leveled his gaze on the gathered peasants. Several people could not meet his gaze. They looked away. “If this woman is guilty of a crime, let her be judged fairly and in a proper venue. Let her meet her accusers and let her have a chance to defend herself before you snap her neck.” “See?” Lidda said, words dripping with contempt as she glared at the heavy Bergur. She took a step towards the man, who retreated to the other side of the gallows as if she held a knife towards him. Regdar assumed he didn’t want another kick to the shin. “I told you that you can't just string me up, you fat fu-,” “H-help!” A cry came from behind the gallows and an aged shepherd stumbled forward, blood dribbling down his side from a great tear in his tunic. All eyes turned away from the gallows, even the quick-tongued halfling’s and she sighed. “Well, what in the hells is this now?”
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