=> As told by Mogrir’s perspective, on the flooding of the Lair of the White Eyes, the night after the battle.
(Mogrir is telling this tale from atop a table in the Grinning Ogre, a half-full mug of ale in hand. He seems to be swaying back and forth a little unsteadily to a gathered group of fellow dwarves and men from the town of Narrows. It’s likely not his first telling of the story tonight, and so he’s allowed a few creative liberties to slip into the tale. He takes in another long gulp of his drink and takes in a deep breath, glancing all around him to the cheering crowd.)
“So it was just after dawn. We was settin’ hic out from the Ogre for the farms in the south. Me bein’ the cleverest dwarf of the group…” A rousing cheer rises up from his fellow Boldbrew clansmen in the crowd. “Ah figured them White Eyes could be hidin’ where that old farm was. Where the river was diverted from the valley. You know the one I mean, where the rocks wore away and broke open like some crack in the side of a clam’s shell. Just teemin’ with shadows and other nasty things.” he waves his hands about for emphasis to his observers, curling his lips in disgust as he describes the entrance to the lair in question.
“My shield an’ the hammer in my hand, we marched right for the place. I could just smell the rotten lil’ bastards a mile away.” he takes in another sip of his ale. “O’course now, you’re thinkin’…could’ve been the lizardman too, aye?” a roar of laugher washes over him as he smiles and shakes his head in jest. “No, no. Good…ah…man, that one. He’s marchin’ in just behind me…the two lasses bringin’ up the rear.” a sharp, lewd whistle pierces the air as he mentions Rose and Lydia. “…down, boy!” Mogrir crows back at the other man.
Mogrir then crouches down a little, hunching his form forwards, his voice sinking lower to describe the plan, causing the audience to lean in closer to listen. “…then I looks about the place. Dwarf’s intuition to…hic…know about the work in that damn…dam what held back the river. Crumblin’ bit of work, that place. So I says to Rose, that stockpile o’ flamin’ oils an’ bang-bangs in her pouches just itchin’ ta be used, aye.” he taps a finger to his forehead three times, nodding to himself. “Jus’ like dousin’ the flames on the hearth. We get the ladies te sneak away from the danger…get the real men…an’ lizard, aye…to do the fightin’. While they works on breakin’ all manners of hell and water down into that damned hic sinkhole.”
The dwarf straightens up, downing the last of his ale and slamming it down on the table, walking carefully around the collection of mugs about his feet. He snorts in through his bulbous nose as he flexes his fingers, his eyes darting from side to side to make sure all the faces were staring straight at him. Mogrir flexes his fingers, as though his trusted hammer and shield were in his hands before them all. “So it went. The hammer an’ shield in my hands…I charges down in there, bangin’ the metal, raisin’ all sorts o’ noise so I strike fear into them damned little green heads!” his feet stomp up and down on the table, causing the wooden construction to groan and rattle at his weight, the cups and mugs rattling and clinking together.
“AND THEN THERE THEY CAME! Dozens….nooooo, no. HUNDREDS of ’em!!” the crowd goes silent, mouths drawn into large ‘O’ shapes of surprise and suspense. “I let the hammer fly, beatin’ and poundin’ on them like a war drum! The lizardman grabs one of ‘em by the leg an’ tosses ‘im righ’ into the air…an’ I brings the hammer down like a cricket bat, sendin’ the poor sod flyin’ right into the rock face. BAM!” the crowd laughs and cheers, hands clapping enthusiastically. “There I was, kept shoutin’ PULL!!” he flails about, mimicing his hammer head swinging parallel to the ground, smacking imaginary goblins right into the face of the grinning ogre skull near the bar.
“But then! I hears the thunder and roar o’ the water burstin’ forth! I turns to the side, seein’ damned Erynae HERSELF come gushin’ out of that broken dam. The goblins all screamin’ and cryin’ like the wee little babies they are, little legs thrashin’ against the pure raw, foamin’…hic!…fury!” his arms are wobbling about in wide circles now, trying to describe the sheer force of the water’s flow to the astonished tavern. “The Lizardman turns tail an’ runs while I jumps down offa the wagon I was fightin’ on top of, but not before I hawks an’ spits into the roarin’ river, all awash with flailin’, drownin’ goblins and says…” he grins proudly. “Here! A last drop from the Boldbrews ta speed yer passage!”
A spirited cheer rises up, resounding off of the walls as multitudes of clay and metal mugs clank and smash against each other, the entire tavern raising a toast to the story. “An THAT!” Mogrir yells over the din, taking another step back towards the edge of his table. “Was a Ballad of the Boom!” he finishes his last words before toppling onto his backside, landing with a solid ‘whump’ on the floor that is barely noticed over the sounds of the rest of the tavern as the exhausted dwarf instantly falls asleep.