Kotin's Notes

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Kotin's Early Life 

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​

            Signaling to the others to prepare, Kotin scanned the area seeking out his quarry.  Soon ... soon they should arrive, he thought.  A giant with brooding amber eyes, unruly deep red hair with lighter streaks running throughout, Kotin was formidable.  He was larger than most giants in his clan, stronger too.  But it was not always like this. 

 

            In his youth, Kotin had been mocked, picked on, attacked and disparaged by the members of his clan.  As is the case with youth, it had nothing to do with anything in his control.  He was belittled on account of his father.  A giant that some say was the fiercest of all giants, but those were much older giants  --  some of whom were considered to be unreliable due to old age, drunkenness, insanity or some such reason.  Mainly, though, they were unreliable because of the lives they had lived -- a life not dissimilar to that of any other giant -- one of combat.  Simply put, those giants in this clan that lived to old age were generally unreliable in memory of events for the simple fact that they were hit too many times in the head over the course of many years of constant combat. 

 

            Kotin fought often with his peers.  Within him, a great rage resided.  But, control was out of his reach.  He didn't really have the discipline to take advantage of his inner power.  Much of his conquest arose as a result of his great size and strength.  Losses, true or perceived sent him into a furious frenzy compelling him to runaway for days at a time. 

 

            Rosie, his mother, fair as giants go and so named on account of her crimson hair, spent most of her time caring for Kotin's father.  Berlance was an invalid for reasons unknown to Kotin until one terrible day.  On this particular day, after losing a particularly nasty fight and after being ridiculed by even the then town elders, Kotin lost control of himself and attacked his father.  It all happened so quickly.  His mother was in the kitchen making the daily meal when Kotin walked right up to his father and started yelling.

 

            "Get up you worthless piece rolton dung!  Get up and fight!  Stand up for yourself so that I don't have to!  Listen to them jeer, feel my scars!"  He slapped his dad in the face building up the courage to hit him harder.  "Get up, will you!  Get up and defend our name.  So me your ferocity!  Teach me your so-called skills!" 

 

            His mother rushed in after hearing the commotion only to find Kotin pulling his father out of his chair and throwing him onto the ground.  "No!" she commanded in horror.  "No!  What are you doing!  No, Kotin, no."  She reached down and cradled her husband in her arms, bent over and kissed him on the forehead. 

 

            Turning to Kotin, she whispered, "What have you done?"

 

            Raging in anger, filled with shame, Kotin had nothing to say.  What had he done?  He began to walk away, to run away again. 

 

            "Not this time you don't! Get back here and speak to me," Rosie implored.  But Kotin kept walking.  Just as he approached the door and motioned to lift the latch, a very loud, dull, thud -- the kind of abrupt and halting sound of a dagger getting buried deep into oak -- discouraged any further movement.  He looked down to find his hand had been nicked and began to slowly bleed.  Turning about, he, for the first time, saw a great warrior spirit in his mother as she sat on the floor cradling Berlance in her arms and fixing a stare on Kotin so powerful that he nearly wet his pants. 

 

            "Not this time, you don't," she repeated, more softly, that warrior spirit fading.  "You will stay.  You will listen.  And, you will understand."

 

            She went on to tell him the tale of Berlance, the true tale.  It was about thirty-five years ago. The clan was weaker than it is today on accounts of all the bandit raids by the infamous Fair Trading Company.  Fair for them meant cruelty as their avarice obliged them to seek ever greater wealth, no matter the cost to others.  As it happened, Berlance ignored their offer for trade which included the conscription of young warriors of their choosing in exchange for a few luxuries he knew we could live without. 

 

            Displeased with Berlance's rebuff, the local Bandit Manager exploded in rage sending out a decree seeking the heads of Berlance and any member of his clan.  When news arrived, the clan was in an uproar.  Even though Berlance was clan chief, some vocally desired to trade with the Fair Trading Company with the, perhaps false, understanding that the gifting of a few warriors as wards was more desirable to open war. 

 

            However, like Kotin, Berlance was a giant of principles.  He concluded that if the freedoms of some are taken in exchange for the freedoms of others then, in the end, none would be free.  It was for this principle that he declined to trade. 

 

            Word spread and fear burned.  Some clan giants decided that rather than everyone die, why not just kill Berlance?  They arranged in secret with the Fair Trading Company to meet and to deliver Berlance to them.  The plan was put into motion on a particularly cold day.  So cold, it seemed, that even the gods froze.  Just outside the entrance of the cave that lead to the pass into the Mountain Clan Valley, the local elders conspired to kill Berlance. 

 

            "Your father suspected something," she continued.  "Some form of treachery, but he never expected it come from within the clan.  That is how powerful the propagation of lies are when they are not squelched by honorable defenders of the truth.  Lies sowed into the hearts of the council the idea that the Fair Trading Company would deal with us fairly because the council was willing to hand over one of their own. 

 

            "They were wrong."  Rosie helped Berlance back into his chair, cleaned him up and fetched him something warm to drink.  Motioning Kotin to sit, she continued to relate the tale of his father. 

 

            The trap was sprung when the Fair Trading Company arrived.  Berlance appraised the situation, but before he could act, a bolt had zipped past him and sunk itself into the chest of a council member.  Astonished, the other council members pled for their lives, arguing that they had delivered Berlance as requested.  But the Bandit Manager was unmoved and the battle began.

 

            Berlance cut down the nearest three bandits as his fellow councilors withdrew or died.  He barked and ordered the survivors to run and prepare the clan for battle.  Berlance remained as the only thing keeping the bandits from advancing on the valley beyond the tunnel. 

 

            A great commotion there was when the survivors returned.  Panic and disorganization among the leadership.  It was the women who tried to organize some kind of stand.  Many of the clansmen fled.  Only a few remained. 

 

            "I was one of them.  I sent your brother away with another family.  I went to fight.  There were only a handful of us."  She combed Berlance's hair and continued, "When we arrived ... no, before we made it to the inner entrance to the cave, we could hear the resounding sound of metal, wood and flesh ... meeting, crashing and crunching beneath each strike.  We ran in through the tunnel but the noise died down.  As we exited the cave, we saw a grotesque scene.  You father ....  Your father ...."

 

            She had to catch her self for a moment, the pain and horror of the memory resurfacing as she related the events.  Berlance was lying, grunting in pain on the ground.  Four bandits holding him down while a fifth hammered out his teeth.  A scream from someone, Rosie wasn't sure whether from herself or someone else, caught the bandits' attention.  For a moment, Rosie was filled with an immense rage and threw herself into battle.  The clansmen following suit.  Swiftly, Rosie dispatched the bandit with the hammer and two others who were holding Berlance down before being knocked down by the other two who had released Kotin's father. 

 

            She paused.  Struggling to speak.  Kotin, unsure of himself, sat in quiet apprehension; his eyes fixed on her.  After some time, she began again. 

 

            The bandits were too numerous.  Too strong.  Rosie and her clan were overwhelmed, cut down or captured.  Being as fair as she was, Rosie was spared the sword.  Berlance lay on the ground, stunned.  A blank glaze in his eye. 

 

            The Bandit Manager approached Rosie, gently rubbed his fingers across her face and down her waist.  "Plump, breast you have there missy," he hissed.  "Pregnant I imagine.  Still, you are quite fair ... for a giant, that is.  I should like to keep you."  At this, Rosie spat in his face.

 

            The Bandit Manager responded with a quick and forceful slap to her face.  "I would not do such things if I were you!" he commanded.  However, it was at this very instant, that your father, that worthless piece of rolton dung as you called him, entered into a rage that none had ever seen.  He leaped to his feet as his berserk broke his stupor, grabbed a solidly-forged veil-iron hammer laying nearby and smashed it into the skull of the Bandit Manager, driving both hammer and skull into the bandit's chest.  He hit with such force that the head of the hammer shattered.  The Bandit Manager fell to the ground, never to move again.  Berlance then threw the haft of the hammer at another bandit and picked up his mighty claihdmore and proceeded to cut down every living bandit in sight. 

 

            "Your father saved us.  He saved this clan.  But, there was a price to pay.  Your father's injuries were such that, after his final rage, he lost consciousness.  He regained some functions after a week of rest and all the powers of the healers.  He's never been the same since.  He just sits and stares, saying not a word.  I can see life in his eyes and know that he is in there, somewhere. 

 

            "I was carrying you that day.  Your father loved you so much that he laid his life down to save you before you even took your first breath," she said with increasing volume.  "That worthless piece of rolton dung is the only reason why you're here today.  I am not ashamed of him," she paused.  "And neither should you be." 

 

            "Why haven't I heard of this before?  Why haven't the others who were with you that day stood up for father?"

 

            "You don't get it ....  The others that were there have spoken up, but you never listened.  No one has.  You and the others count them as deranged, insane.  The ones who caused this, the ones who fled ... when they returned, they spun the tale you have heard.

 

            "But, answer me this, my son, have ever wondered why they call the area outside the gates 'Berlance's Last Stand'?"

 

            "I thought it was some joke; a reference to the trees and how they stand there idle their entire lives."

 

            "Then you understand less than even I had hoped.  It was your father's last stand that saved the clan, me and you."

 

            The snapping of a twig returned Kotin's attention to the present.  The terrain was rugged, covered in rock outcroppings, grass-covered ledges and assorted pine.  The ranger, with his ear to the ground motioned the group to ready themselves.  Kotin could feel a slight vibration rising up from the stone floor.  Heart racing in anticipation, he glanced back at the party once more.  A tree fell, then chaos.  Kotin leaped up and yelled, for Berlance! and rushed into the coming storm. 

 

            Instead of the expected wave of bandits, he was met by a stampede of donkeys.  He heard someone yell stampede, but it was too late.  The party formation had been shattered and the bandits on horseback driving the donkeys rode up outside of arrow range yelled something unintelligible and rode away laughing. 

 

            This was a trick.  "To the village!  Now!"  When they had returned home, the village they loved had been burned to the ground and the bandits were fleeing in the opposite direction.  Concern rushed over the group as they spread out seeking their respective homes. 

 

            Kotin arrived to find his home aflame.  He kicked his way in, breaking the door.  Fire and smoke raged, he was blind, but stumbled in none-the-less.  Tripping over something, he fell to the ground.  A momentary opening in the smoke and flame revealed that he had stumbled over his mother.  Quickly, he crouched up and dragged her outside.  She was dead.  Stabbed multiple times all over her body.  She had been tortured.  There was soot around her nose and mouth indicating that the wounds had not killed her.  She carried severe burns along her legs and back.  She died in the flames. 

 

            Kotin fell onto her, hopelessly crying.  Looking around, everything he knew was gone.  Aflame.  There were giants clamoring about, seeking out loved ones and valuables or what were left of them.  It was about this time when he heard a horn blow.  It was the ranger.  The bandits have returned. 

 

            Falling down upon the village like a plague, the bandits proceeded to cut down anyone in the street; riding them through with horse and spear.  Kotin looked down at his mother, hesitated a moment then barely dodged the spear of a bandit on horseback.  He fell back on his rump into some debris.  As the rider turned around to make another pass, Kotin mustered in him all the strength he could and, for the first time in his life, he was able to momentarily control his rage. 

 

            All fear vanishing, Kotin picked up a burning awning post and swung it at the rider's horse as it approached.  The post broke and the horse fell, knocked out cold, bringing the rider down with it.  The rider managed to stick an acrobatic landing.  The bandit turned on Kotin, thrusting his spear forward connecting with and puncturing Kotin's leg greaves.  Off-balance, Kotin took a step back but was quickly jerked forward when the bandit pulled back on his spear, the spur in the head catching Kotin's calf. 

 

            Chuckling, the bandit, about the size of a dwarf stared up at Kotin with maliciousness in his eyes.  Kotin's rage waned and he stepped back, tripping over some burning debris.  "Any last words, fool?" sneered the bandit.  Just as he was about to end Kotin's shameful agony, the horse whinnied as it came to, rolled over onto the dwarf and jumped up.  Spooked, it started bucking and kicked the dwarf into the burning house behind Kotin before running off. 

 

            Taking this opportunity afforded him by the horse, Kotin ran.  He ran and ran.  Out of the valley, through the mountain tunnel and out into Berlance's Last Stand.  Panting, he paused a moment looking around with a great sadness.  He could not do what his father had done.  He spent most of his life ashamed of his father.  Now, more than ever, he wished he could have that time back.  It was at this very spot that, while in his mother's womb, his father single-handedly fought back hordes of bandits over thirty-five years ago. 

            Hearing commotion ringing from inside the cave, Kotin pressed on, running ever deeper into the high mountain forest.  He ran for days, aware that he was being pursued.  The one advantage he had over the bandits was his unbelievable stamina.  He never lost a contest of endurance and this contest was a matter of life and death. 

 

            Soon, he came upon a part of the forest he was unfamiliar with.  The neighing of the horses can still be heard in the distance, so he had to keep going.  As he fled deeper and deeper into the forest, he found them to be very peculiar.  Some strange force seemed to have stretched its tendrils to everything large and small.  Odd, sometimes menacing, sounds broke the silence. 

 

            The silence.  The silence and the darkness was strange.  Yes, but when did they appear?  Kotin kept going but realized that he was no longer being pursued.  Had the bandits given up chase?  Or was there something in these forests that kept them away?  Either way, it had been days since he had rested and, upon stopping, he fell down into a deep pile of leaf litter and sank into sleep. 

 

            While asleep, he dreamt of his village and his family.  He was back at home, it was intact.  As he passed from room to room, he found no one.  Where is his father, his mother?  That brother....  Where had they all gone?  He yelled out, Mama! But she was no where to be found.  Then, turning around she appeared -- stabbed, mutilated and half burned. 

 

            "You left him, Kotin.  You abandoned your father.  You abandoned your family."

 

            "No, mama.  I had planned the ambush.  I was going to kill them bandits.  I was going to kill them all."

 

            "You made an ass of yourself and we paid the price.  You went out on a fools errand.  Chasing whispers, lies.  You are too weak-minded to understand these things.  Your brother knew.  He knew and he tried to save us."

 

            Weeping, Kotin continued, "No mother, he lied.  He told me of the bandits' plan and I determined to stop them.  He's the liar.  He's the traitor!"

 

            Looking over to the chair, Rosie began to weep.  Kotin turned his attention to the chair and slowly walked over.  He could only see the back of his father's head until he reached the side of the chair.  Berlance was covered in soot, charred pieces of flesh falling to the floor.  Gasping, Kotin reeled back. 

 

            "You abandoned him.  He was alive when you arrived.  You abandoned him."

 

            "I didn't see him, mama.  I didn't see him...."

 

            Kotin grasped the arm of the chair and fell down weeping.  As he knelt there in anguish and shame, he felt the gentle and familiar touch of his mother's hand on his shoulder.  "Reclaim your honor, son.  Subdue these bandits.  Take up your inheritance and avenge our deaths."

​

Kotin was muttering in his sleep, 'take up your inheritance ... take up your inheritance ... avenge our deaths.'  He woke with a start.  It was pitch black.  A moonless night.  Even the starlight was stolen by the high, outstretched branches of the pine which appeared to somehow be leaning inward upon him. 

 

            Hunger pressed in.  Kotin hadn't remembered the last time he'd eaten.  Days now, was it?  He stood up and began to grope around in the darkness.  He could not find the path that brought him here.  The forest was utterly quiet. 

 

            Then, light appeared.  Starlight.  The trees had moved, no longer leaning inward.  A low, slow pounding could be heard in the distance.  Something rustled in the trees.  Kotin stopped, listening to gain his bearings.  Something was coming.  The pounding grew louder.  He could now feel vibrations up the lower parts of his legs. 

 

            A large crackling sound broke the calm in the air as a pine tree came crashing down.  Birds swarmed in the air, leaving the broken refuge of the trees.  Bracing himself, Kotin watched as a shadow moved in the trees, then among the trees.  The trees began to lean outward, as if trying to get away from something fierce.  A moment later, the shadow became clear.  It was a frost giant and, with it, a rampage of snow. 

 

            The temperature around Kotin quickly dropped below freezing, bitterly cold.  He stepped back and a large branch beneath his foot snapped as though it were a twig.  The cold is causing everything around him to become brittle.  Two icy blue orbs, presumed to be eyes, were leveled on Kotin.  Fog began to form as the moisture in the air coalesced.  Breathing became difficult as the air cut into Kotin's lungs and burned his nostrils and throat. 

 

            A deafening roar erupted from the beast.  A frost giant, Kotin thought.  The first of a kind that he has seen.  It was more than twice his height and seemingly formed of snow and ice.  The trees became heavy laden with snow, their branches bowing down under the burden.  The frost giant stared intently at Kotin who did not move in the slightest -- partially out of fear, partially out of wonder. 

 

            Clouds of vapor poured in and out of the giant's mouth and nose.  Then, seemingly after making up its mind, it lifted a mighty tree-like club and swung it at Kotin.  Without a moment to spare, Kotin fell back, dodging the blow.  Weaponless, he had little hope of winning this fight.  He turned and ran.

 

            Fortunately for him, the frost giant, big as it be, was easy to outrun.  Kotin ran and ran, dim starlight guiding him.  The further away he got, the warmer it became but the snow persisted.  Kotin was heading north, no doubt about that.  He would have to find clothes or catch a bear or caribou sometime soon and relieve it of its fur and flesh.  Otherwise, the environment would succeed where no bandit had before -- kill him. 

 

            He leapt over rotted logs, likely dropped by some frost giant in the recent past.  He climbed many rock outcrops and found what appeared to be a game trail.  Good news for once, he thought.  In the distance, he could make out a faint light.  The light of a small fire.  There was someone else out here.  He made his way there, warily on accounts that whoever was out here in such a harsh place with a fire might not be the sort to want company.  But what had he to lose?

 

            Kotin climbed up some rocks and avoided a small waterfall that was mostly ice now.  Prior to reaching the summit, he peered over for a closer inspection.  There was one person sitting by a fire, inspecting a scrap of paper.  Many boulders of sufficient size to conceal his approach lay between Kotin and the fire.  He made the summit and pressed forward, carefully avoiding anything that might make a sound and thus give away his position.  He could not trust this fellow yet. 

 

            As he got closer, he noticed the man was an older fellow about the size of a hobbit.  Then Kotin's heart burned in anger as he noticed the man clad in the common attire of the vagabond and bandits of the Fair Trading Company.  Kotin quickened his pace, passing from the shadow of one boulder to another.  The air was still crisp and the wind biting against his unprotected skin. 

 

            Just as Kotin reached the final boulder, he picked up a large stone of about ten pounds then peered over the boulder.  The old man was gone.  No where to be seen.  Kotin stood there in a semi-crouch scanning the area. 

 

            A quiet voice drifted on the wind, "Who are you?"  Kotin glanced about but could see no one.  "Who are you?" the voice repeated.

 

            "I am Kotin.  I'm here to avenge my father and mother."

 

            "Wrong answer, lad, wrong answer."  And quick as that, the little old man stepped out of a shadow and kicked Kotin in the groin then punched him in the head as he doubled over.  All went dark after that. 

 

            Some time later Kotin roused himself.  He was laying next to a fire with a ragged bear-hide cloak draped over him.  Looking about, he found that hobbit sitting across him perplexed over some scrap of paper.  "Ah, you're awake.  'bout time, I'd say.  Ya know, for someone as big as you are, you sure don't know how to take care of yourself."

 

            Moving to a sitting position, Kotin remarked, "Well, you going to kill me with insults before you takes my life?"

 

            Chuckling, the hobbit noted, "If I wanted to kill you, I could have.  I had every opportunity.  Still do in fact.  However, you'll find yourself free to move about and go fer a walk if you be wanting.  I suspect you still holding some grudge against me for some wrong I may or may not have done to you in the past but, in order to move forward in life, one must learn from the past and harness those experiences.  Holding grudges are useless if you have not real means of executing your plans."

 

            Kotin stared at the hobbit a bit, dumbfounded.  It wouldn't be the last time.  "Why didn't you kill me? Seeing that you had and, apparently still have, every chance to do so."

 

            Smiling, the hobbit continued to peruse the paper in his hand.  When pleased with his understanding of the paper, the hobbit looked up and smiling, said, "I'm not that kind of person."

 

            Unsatisfied with the answer, Kotin pressed on.  The hobbit revealed his name to be Wendell, a lowly fellow unceremoniously taken from his village by some slavers when he was just a youth.  His parents objected and were butchered there on the spot as an example to anyone else who refused to pay tribute.  Later he was sold off to various unscrupulous fellows who made attempts to train him as a jester for their entertainment.  One even taught him the basics of reading. 

 

            However, even those powerful enough to trade in the lives of slaves knelt before the collective power of the bandits.  On one such tribute date, a Bandit Manager took a particular fancy in Wendell and decided to buy him.  When Wendell's prior owner declined the trade but offered many other slaves as substitutes, the Bandit Manager glowered and killed three slaves on the spot.  Vowing to kill more unless the transaction was completed, Wendell's prior owner had no choice but to accept the terms of the trade which now included paying the Bandit Manager for the very three slaves he killed. 

 

            Astonished at this tale, Kotin pressed for more, "No offense, but what did the Bandit Manager want with you?"  Smiling, Wendell considered a moment, then continued to relate his tale. 

 

            Wendell was a hobbit, as it is, and hobbits are quite adept at hiding.  He was trained to be an assassin.  His particular skill set of being a jester allowed him to come and go in the presence of many powerful people.  Wendell was trained to entertain, enchant and belie his marks with dance, tricks and tales and song.  Then, when least suspecting, slip some form of a slow setting poison into the mark.  The poison could not act too swiftly as Wendell needed to get out of town without being caught as well as to make it appear as though the mark died of natural causes. 

 

            "They usually died very painfully, ejecting all manner of bodily fluid over the course of a week once the poison set in.  Sometimes it was a single mark, sometimes entire groups.  I had to make it look as though it was a natural sickness that either spread quickly to others or killed the mark in a violent fit.

 

            "Eventually, people solved the riddle and put a price on my head and that of my late Bandit Manager.  I was able to escape with my life by cashing in on the bounty for my Bandit Manager.  My history was understood and I was granted clemency just the once."

​

            However, he continued, this clemency was not to last.  It had been discovered by the bandits that Wendell cashed in the bounty and was duly whipped with 100 lashings -- which is a lot for a hobbit.  It was that or death.  Wendell figured that if he survived the lashings he could escape one day. 

 

            That day was long in coming, however.  Wendell was compelled to do work he came to detest which included the burning of villages with people still in the structures.  Wendell was never given a weapon of any worth on accounts of his past.  So when involved in raids, he was to remain in the rear until ordered in to kill children with a table knife or burn families alive in their homes. 

 

            Wendell hated himself, but most of all, he hated the Bandits.  The punishment grew more and more severe with every escape attempt.  Knowing his distaste for the work, the Bandit Manager of his last Company rounded up the surviving villagers in town center.  Had the children separated from their parents and ordered Wendell to gut any child who refused to put their own parent to the sword.  One courageous girl turned on Wendell instead of cutting her mother, gifting him a terrible scar across his face. 

 

            Another bandit stepped in to subdue the girl, but the Bandit Manager called him off, saying that he'd like to see if Wendell knew how to properly play with girls.  He gave the girl a shield and told her that if she could slay Wendell, then he wouldn't kill her parents.  She turned on Wendell who, as he related it, parried and stepped back but the other bandits kept throwing him back into the circle and they tightened the circle each time. 

 

            In a moment of desperation, Wendell dropped to his knees and dropped his knife offering himself to the girl.  The girl, not blinking once, lunged at Wendell.  But this was not to be the day that Wendell died.  The Bandit Manager stepped in and kicked the girl, throwing her several feet back.  Laying there, trying to catch her breath, she watched in horror as the Bandit Manager ordered his lieutenant to kill both parents. 

 

            He wasn't going to let Wendell or the girl off that easily.  He punished Wendell by forcing him to kill all the remaining children while the other bandits broke the knees of all the men.  The girl however ... the girl's fiery spirit called to the Bandit Manager.  He took her to be his personal pet. 

 

            The little girl became the deadliest of bandits, however she was never trusted enough with a weapon to be given one.  She learned to fashion all manner of killing tool from anything at hand.  Bandits in the company died regularly from ambushes while on night watch.  The company suspected the girl, but dare not voice too forcibly for fear of enraging the Bandit Manager who adored his little pet.  Wendell was sure the Bandit Manager suspected the killings to be at the girl's hand, but enjoyed playing with her too much in his tent. 

 

            The girl remained nameless.  She never spoke, except in screams, shrieks and wretched howls.  That terrible day changed her, unleashed some sort of beast within her.  She never really appeared ... conscious of her actions.  She simply acted. 

 

            Well, one day, it came that our company was tasked to put down some rebellion in a giantkin village up in the mountain.  At this mention, Kotin listened ever more intently.  There apparently was a certain giant who did not consider an offer from the Fair Trading Company all that fair and refused to deal.  The company was to meet a group of giants that were part of the local council to work out the details of the trade.  Mind you now, the chieftain had a bounty on his head for refusing to deal, a hefty one at that. 

 

            As it happened, the council considered it in their favor to collect this bounty themselves by handing the chieftain over to the company.  Most of us had already taken up positions about the newly constructed gated entrance to the cave leading to the village. 

 

            Realizing that their histories were interwoven, Kotin's blood began to boil.  This hobbit is admitting to killing my father.  Then a sense of helplessness overcame him as he realized that though he was much stronger and larger than the hobbit, he simply lacked the skill to win any fight with him. 

 

            Wendell took a breath, gazed upward to the heavens and took a moment to wonder at the stars, then continued the tale. 

 

            It happened that the Fair Trading Company did not find turning in superiors very agreeable.  The councilor who spoke and offered to trade the chieftain away and to accept a trade deal with the bandits was quickly terminated with no less than three arrows to the chest. 

 

            "The Bandit Manager smirked at such an offer and said that he respectfully declines after the councilor dropped to the ground.  Notwithstanding the treachery of his own council, the chieftain drew his claidhmore and cut down three bandits before anyone had a chance to act.  The other councilors ran, but were quickly killed.  Most of them anyway.  Some must have made it back to town for not long after the chieftain was subdued and was put to the Pain a small band from the village had arrived. 

 

            Wendell stopped a moment, looked over to Kotin and said, "I can stop if you find this story disagreeable."  He looked at Kotin for a long while before continuing, "You probably don't know what it means to be put to the Pain, do you."  Kotin glared at him and clenched his teeth. 

 

            "How could you know?" Wendell explained that to be put to the Pain means to have one's face bashed in from the sides--usually with a hammer, but a rock works too--so as to not kill the person, yet destroy his teeth and jaws.  Then, they are to have their feet and ankles struck no less than seven times each with a hammer.  Then his hands are to be struck once each for each finger they have.  This is really out of courtesy, as the bandits see it, for those who have already lost fingers for one reason or another.  The Pain is not always fatal, though, sometimes, people die from the shock of the injuries sustained. 

 

            Grimacing, Wendell admitted that, though he could not stomach the brutality of the Pain, he considered it at least a chance for the victim to have some form of life after the encounter.  Considering that most people die when confronted with an angry mob of bandits. 

 

            Cruel as it was, this day was the day that Wendell, and the girl, escaped.  "Now recall that I was not permitted a weapon.  They had already planned to kill off half the village.  And, I was to be tasked with the killing of the children.  Something I regret ever doing but had no way out of the experience.

 

            "While the chieftain was being put to the Pain and the fallen councilors, uh, relieved of their valuables, a group from the village arrived.  I watched the entire scene play out as no one else, save maybe the girl, took notice. 

 

            "A giant woman, exceptionally pleasant on the eye with vibrant crimson hair simply crushed the bandit delivering the Pain and dispatched two of the four that were holding the chieftain down.  The other giants joined in the fight, but they were all quickly killed or subdued.  None seemed to be warriors of any merit, however, that woman had some spirit. 

 

            "Spirit, though as you might suspect given our recent history, is not enough.  She was stuck in the back of the head and knocked to the ground.  The Bandit Manager made some, hmm, advances upon her which seemed to rouse the chieftain out of his Pain-induced comatose state.  Heh, well, apparently that woman was his wife... pregnant too as I overheard. 

 

            "That chieftain obliterated the Bandit Manager's skull and half his torso in one blow with the hammer they were using to inflict the Pain on him."  Wendell paused, clearly recalling the memory.  "I never saw so many bandits dumbfounded at once.  They all just stood there, stunned from the shock.  That chieftain unleashed a fury like I've never seen.  He single-handedly took out damn near the entire company.

 

            "The rear guard charged in once the first platoon was destroyed.  That provided me my chance to escape, but I just couldn't will myself to leave.  I had to watch.  I had to see.  Our company had near a-hundred bandits in it.  That chieftain was the most amazing fighter I have ever seen.  I noticed the girl stuck around a while too.  She was deranged by then and resorted to carrying abouts some rag doll with her. 

 

            "When I was certain the chieftain had won, I quietly took my leave.  When I glanced over to the girl, she had already gone.  To this day, I don't know what ever happened to her.  Maybe she's dead, maybe she's out secretly killing.  I believe she ran into the Forbidden Forest here.  Some nights I get the goose bumps and a dreaded sense that I'm being watched.  If I am being watched, I haven't discovered any proof.  However, that don't means that there not be anyone out there watching.  If there is someone, I'm sure it's the girl.  I'm wondering if one night I'll wake up dead."

 

             Wendell paused looked around and sat quietly for a great deal of time.  Finally Kotin spoke up, "That tale you tell, of your escape... you speak of my father.  He survived, some might say.  But, the reality is that he died that day in battle as he spent the rest of his life confined to a chair unable to move, eat or even relieve himself without mother's help."

 

            A spark of curiosity reached Wendell's ear as he furrowed his brow, "So, he lives you say?  I am surprised, though after witnessing his power in battle, I shouldn't be."

 

            Anger rose in Kotin's voice, "No, he does not live.  He was burned alive a week or two ago.  I lost track of time in this forest.  I was to kill the bandits that have been raiding our village.  But they drew me out with false information, sent in a stampede of donkeys upon me and the others in my war party while the main group set to raze my village and kill my kin."

 

            "So, you're telling me they made you out to be an ass while they sacked your village.  They never did think much of the cunning of the giants.  Ya know, for all your brute strength, you're pretty easily beaten."

 

            Kotin leapt to his feet, jumped across the fire and grabbed Wendell by his throat, "What do you think of the cunning of giants now?"

 

            Calmly, Wendell slowly responded, "Well, not much has changed.  If you had any forethought, you would have known that I would have checked you for weapons and made sure that I was ready for battle."  Then he ever so slightly pressed a dagger against Kotin's neck and belly.  "You know, you could strangle me.  However, I'm not certain how long your strength will last should I open your throat and bowels."

 

            Feeling the cold steel against his neck and a warmth as blood began to trickle, Kotin knew he was defeated and released Wendell. 

 

            "You know, we're not that different, you and I."

 

            Incredulous, Kotin retorted, "We ... are ... nothing ... alike."  He returned to the ragged bear-skin coat Wendell had given him. 

 

            "Yes we are very much alike.  We both were taken from our families and forced to do and see things that we should not have by the bandits and their associates.  I believe that I am free from their reach now because they have to assume that I was thrown off the mountain or otherwise killed on that fateful day.  They may not assume as much about the girl, however.  I'm certain they went looking for her.  Not sure how long they'd keep up the search, but I'm certain they are still searching for her."  He paused a moment, wiped his daggers and stowed them in their respective sheaths. 

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