Quoted By:
Cadarn Of The Thunderstruck Rood glances up wearily at his maddened, ranting companion. Rubbing his eyes laden with fatigue, he says:
- Leave him be, Bastich. Save your anger for the battle and the shield-wall. Besides, you have only yourself to blame. You led us here.
Bastich scowls:
- There are no women here. Not even moderately effeminate men. This battle is a joke - worse than your stupid impersonations and rhymes, Learmont (glancing at the terrified Jester). What there is: chickens, cattle, swine. It is like a farm cattle-house, a byre camped around with grunting men armed with sharpened sticks. They have no firearms! They do not even have many bowmen! Something about the iron being too precious here to leave the hand, to waste upon arrowsheads lost or taken by your foes. We are all going to be killed.
The Jester, Learmont, foolishly opens his mouth to stutter:
-Bu-But if King Iosaef h-had not issued his d-decree, forbidding the coast to trade iron, grain and weapons wi-with these p-people, black powder from East G-Galerne...it... it is not their fault...
Bastich explodes with rage.
- What did I JUST SAY?! No more braying or animal noises! All I hear from you is bleating! You are like an ugly, disgusting little lamb! Baaa! Baaa! BAAAA! I am going to stab you now... look I am doing it... by Lunfardo's shrivelled wriggling worm-pecker I am stabbing you...
You walk past this scene as you meander, wandering amongst the battle campfires.
From Unferth's shield wall, a solitary warrior is crossing the divide, approaching your side and brandishing weapons, boasting and taunting, incoherently bellowing a challenge and trying to rile up a fight.
Everyone on both sides ignores him.
