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 Post Posted: Sat Sep 20, 2014 1:28 am 
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Dudes Shouldn't Do That To Other Dudes - A Handful Of Units #80

Ronjermy checked back in first thing in the morning.

The caster was still bound to a chair, that now laid on its side on the floor. The chair was in one piece, but the caster was broken.

As Ronjermy was familiar with from his time serving Overlord Reaptor, ordering a twoll to 'fabricate an unplesant, painful experience' was an impressive event. Twolls weren't particularly mean or vengeful units, but just like they could create a strong and sturdy chair out of basic elements, so could they rearrange those basic elements of a chair…or a unit… for a particular purpose. To cause pain, for instance.

This particular twoll had on a kitchen apron, and had clearly been filling its many small pockets with small instruments of torture he'd been fabricating all turn. He was currently filing the sharp barbs of a fabrication line of very large hooks.

The caster was unconscious but breathing. Bubbling blood out his mouth and one nostril, with labored breathing. Must have a collapsed lung. Ronjermy surmised that that was the theme of the day, as half the man's face was also collapsed in.

It must have been a long, painful night.

Ronjermy looked questioningly over to the attending marman warlord. "We didn't ask, but he talked a plenty. Says he doesn't know anything about Thispian other than he was supposed to join the fight with flyers. Various details about the Lizawd King and the city he was in."

Turn started. The broken caster was suddenly whole, and awake, and after a silent moment before realization, his eyes went wide with dread and terror and who knows what sounds would have come out of his mouth if the twoll hadn't swiftly and deftly upended the caster and the chair and deposited the caster's head in a huge pail of yesterday's bloody water.

Ronjermy nodded. It was going to be a few long turns for this caster.

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     Post Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2015 3:50 am 
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    Had It Once, That Was Enough A Handful Of Units #81

    Ronjermy stood in one of Atlandis’s many cavelike openings, looking up at Misty Hole and the spot where Well Hung used to hang.

    He stood alone in the cavern entrance, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

    “Let me guess,” Rebeche said from behind him, “you’re not going to rebuild Well Hung.”

    Ronjermy hadn’t heard him approaching. He liked his turned warlord. He was glad that Rebeche seemed to like him too. He had acted in solid service since he had joined the

    Without turning, Ronjermy answered. “You guess correctly, warlord.”

    They shared silence for a time.

    Ronjermy shrugged. “It was a bad idea to begin with. It was arrogant of me. And a strategically bad idea.”

    “Because it advertised the existence of a completely hidden side? You don’t say.”

    Ronjermy smiled.“For many reasons, including that one. And it produced no income.”

    Ronjermy paused for effect. “And it advertised the existence of a completely hidden side.”

    “Atlandis will be the side’s face to the world, now. I’ll rebuild Sotomy to guard the entrance to the Sea of Total Darkness, but I’ll save the expense of rebuilding Well Hung.”

    Ronjermy knew Rebeche shrugged by the sound of his armor moving. “It served its purpose.”

    Ronjermy also shrugged. “Perhaps it did. Perhaps instead it lost me three casters.”

    At just that moment, Ensten spoke to him in his head. “Excuse me Lord. Bad news.”

    Ronjermy laughed. He spoke out loud for Rebeche’s benefit. “Bad news, you say, Ensten?
    Whatever could it be?”

    “Yes Lord. Uhmmmm, the caster prisoner has croaked.”

    Ensten waited for the resulting silence to end.

    The silence lasted a while.

    Ronjermy walked to the very edge of the drop off city entrance, and looked down, and then back up to Misty Hole.

    He took several deep breaths.

    “And how, how did the caster croak?”

    “It wasn’t the twoll, Lord. It was the chair. The chair broke. The marman guard assures me the twoll wasn’t even in the room. The caster had just one hit left…the chair broke, and the caster hit his head on the corner of table. “

    Ronjermy was silent.

    “And it croaked him.”

    “Yes Lord, it croaked him.”

    Ronjermy took a breath. He controlled his growing rage. He paced back and forth.

    Rebeche stood silently, thumbs hooked in his belt.

    Ronjermy paced some more.

    “Fine. It’s done. Order him placed as Land Shark bait for one of the level one regents. Let’s get some good out of him.” And he ended the conversation.

    He turned and walked to Rebeche, stopping almost nose to nose.

    “You and me, we’re either going to drink until we pass out, or we’re going to fight to the croak.
    Choose one.”

    Rebeche held his gaze evenly. “I could probably take you, so we’d better drink.”

    Ronjermy knew he couldn’t. “Fine. Let's drink.”

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