A drink with an ogre

Ah! Yes. My name. My name is Young Grimwold.

*Much as YG would like to offer a handshake, he has been known to break fingers in the past with such a gesture. Plus, he is a little intimidated by the armour-clad speaker. So he smiles instead. His eyes flick around the room, hoping that more of the listeners will take advantage of his drink offer.*

I'm an... I'm an ogre. I try not to be, but... You don't mind ogres, do you?

[OOC: Thanks for taking up the thread, FrightKnight. I notice that in a previous post you mentioned a brutal encounter with an ogre. Obviously it wouldn't be YG, but perhaps it's left you with a certain attitude towards ogrekind...]

*Barely has the door of the Crazed Heifer shut again, when it is flung back on its hinges to bang against the wattle-and-daub outer wall. Something large stoops into the pub. Orangey-brown mottled skin covers smooth muscles and dark brown-black eyes with no pupils. The hobgoblin stands fully half as tall as a grown man, and is breathing heavily, quickly, an urgent gleam in its eyes, long nose flared at the nostrils...*

My good self, disliking ogres? Nothing of the sort. As long as they do not make me angry (*Frightknight smiles sweetly*) ..ah, case in point (*FrightKnight holds what is left of his sword, which is now no more than really a flat broken bottle, nevertheless with razor-sharp edges*)...

I have little in the way of names, unless you classify 'Frightknight', which is of course what I am, as a name. I suppose it is just like calling a dungeoneer 'Dungeoneer', or goblin fodder as one of my work colleagues used to say. What did become of Skarkill anyway? I heard he met an untimely end...

(OOC: Don't worry YG, Frightknight just about loathes anything that isn't another FrightKnight, and even when it IS another Frightknight, there is still contempt for the other).

*At ths point, FrightKnight realises that YG is not paying full attention to his efforts to find someone to hold a conversation with, and spots the hobgoblin. FrightKnight's eyebrows raise slightly, although of course no-one else notices this*

Greetings, erm, hobgoblin...would you care for a drink? This ogre has offered us some free ale...

*FrightKnight squints at the hobgoblin. There's something a little familiar about this chap, and FrightKnight is desperately trying to remember whether it was through good or evil that he may have met the hobgoblin.*

I used to be good friends with Skarkill, whereas I always had a strictly business realationship with Lord Fear. I worked for him, and I got money in return. Lately, however, Fear has been increasingly relaint on hobgoblins...er, no offence meant, hobgoblin, and he became obsessed by technomagic. I also could not stand Lissard, with his terrible odour, and general incompotence at times.

So I decided to leave Marblehead and arrive here. When I used to meet Skarkill he said he thought this was a 'lovely' place, with plenty of opportunities to pillage, murder, commit sins, that sort of business. I never thought about the place much at the time, until after he left. I became restless and decided I could amke a fresh start here, although I didn't burn my bridges, so if needs be I could go back to the Fortress of Marblehead if things work out.

(OOC: I never knew FrightKnight could be so much of a chatterbox, did you?)

*At this point, FrightKnight takes a good, refreshing sip of the fine ale*

Mm, quite acceptable ale. So, I travel all the way here, only to find out everywhere is deserted, the marketplace, this place; and I only heard recently from villagers that I asked that Skarkill was dead! Terrible news. I might need another drink...

I'm sure, knowing skarkill, it was because of some villainy he caused, and not, for example, getting crushed by another troll...I don't think that would have happened again, simply because there i haven't seen many around here.

*FrightKnight takes another sip of his drink and finds there is little left. He asks for a refill, but accidently pays too much and so Young Grimwold also has a refill. More worryingly, the hobgoblin does not...*

*The creature strides over chairs and benches, the patrons hurriedly ducking or scrabbling for cover, excusing themselves for non-existant improprieties. Getting to the table where the Frightknight and the ogre are sat, it looms over the drinks, large clawed hands splaying out over the scratched wooden surface of the table. In a voice like syrup over rough stones, it growls* I have been looking for... *a sharp-nailed finger points across the table* ..a decent pub for ages. Ta. Pass us that chair will ye? Looks just big enough.