Clamour and Shriek
Shriek ducked as the silver platter glided through the air where his head had been, “You imbecilic buffoon.” It always came as a surprise how verbose Boss Ragnar could be, “You call this putrescent detritus food?”
Clamour snickered from his position under the table. A nearby troll stolidly munched on some lamb, looking only slightly confused. A golden cup followed the platter, knocking the poor troll senseless. Clamour absentmindedly picked up the lamb and started to bite into it.
Boss Ragnar was a good leader. He was strong—and everyone knew that was all that was needed. His quirks were just too hilarious to ignore though.
Clamour clambered over to his younger brother. Shriek had procured a goblin which he used as an improvised shield against the onslaught of cutlery and dishes. An overripe pear mashed itself into the goblin’s ear while a fork had somehow managed to fully lodge itself into the leather breastplate the goblin had haply worn to the feast.
No one knew where Ragnar had gotten his penchant for grandiose words, but the greed for exotic food was surely passed down from his mother—along with her unmatched temper.
Shriek growled accusingly at Clamour, “You gave him that Durian fruit we found didn’t you? You could have at least warned me!”
Clamour grinned, from his very safe location below the table, “I also told the chefs to add some of those green leaves, the ones those elves love to boil, as garnish.”
Ragnar’s ranting continued on in the background “…unsavory calamity of an ogre. You wouldn’t…” Shriek peeked around his terrified looking goblin and paled slightly.
“I hope you brought something else from that raid?”
Clamour shrugged. “You mean you didn’t?”
Shriek started to back away from the purpling behemoth of an ogre—there was a reason Ragnar was the ogre leader and it wasn’t because of his extensive vocabulary.
Clamour let his little brother sweat for a moment longer before grinning mischieviously, “Of course I brought something else.”
Standing and taking aim, Clamour tossed a dark pellet into Ragnar’s mouth.
“…miscreant wretch of a…”
Shriek stopped his stumbling retreat as he watched his leader closely.
Ragnar raised an eyebrow as he pondered the new substance salivating his palate.
“Ah. This truly is luscious.”
With that he returned to his table and continued his meal where he had left off, “I expect there is more of this…” he looked at Clamour expectantly.
“Chocolate? I assume you can procure more of it in the upcoming raids?”
Clamour blinked. Perhaps this hadn’t been his brightest idea. “Well, um, the elves we…questioned…mentioned it is only grown by the Succubi and guarded by a Desperate Soul.”
Boss Ragnar smiled innocently at his two cousins, “If an elf was able to obtain a sample I’m sure you are both more than capable of doing so.” His cunning eyes showed no sign of the congeniality in his tone. “I expect it by the next moon.”
He cut into the steak a goblin attendant had managed to replace after his tirade.
Shriek dropped his, now unconscious, shield and muttered just loudly enough for Clamour to hear, “And I’m supposed to be the stupid one.”
Gamefuse, European: Windy Cliff, Merkavah