So, here's my submission for a possible retainer for Snorri. The core concept is a Ranger, who was originally from a clan associated with the Leatherworker's Guild, but found his talents better suited elsewhere. Thus, I present...
Field Testing
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The Gors had formed a crude ring of muscle and fur, locking the two specimens of their tribe with the largest horns into their midst. There they hacked, snarled, punched, bit and brayed at each other. Snow was kicked up, crude weapons resounded with ugly smacks as they clashed time and again, echoing into the surroundings every time one of them struck the other's flesh. To stray too close to the encircling crowd would mean being torn to shreds for cowardice.
Both were fearsome creatures, towering over the rest by at least a head, with the brays barely reaching up to their waists. Each one had arms wider around than the trunk of a decade-old tree. Their horns an amalgamation of multiple shapes, in one the antlers of an elk that at their base curled forward like those of a ram, in the other a more typical arrangement of ones that swept upward into acute points, likely enhanced by sharpening with a stone knife judging by the unevenness of the points. The true outlier lay in a nearly identical second pair, sprouting from the Gor's cranium in parallel with the first set.
As the fight carried on, the rest of the tribe drew closer and closer, whether drawn in by the scent of spilled blood or a taught tradition to intensify the struggle between challengers might be pondered by someone with the spare time and inclination to. Then, a breakthrough occurred in the fight. The four-horned beast landed a savage punch to the antlered one's throat, bringing it to its knees as it gasped for air. A third eye previously held closed on the Gor's forehead had flown open from the pain. A crude axe was raised aloft, ready to finish off this rival.
The axe descended, and the antlered one cemented its victory. Pressing its weight back onto one cloven hoof, it bounded upwards, impaling the four-horns' throat with a sharpened antler, drawing a flint 'knife' as the axe fell to the ground from limp fingers. After a few moments of dying bleating, the antlered one had finished carving out its rival's heart. Standing back up, tearing four-horns' head from its shoulders, it raised the yet beating heart and opened its maw, ready to feel the taste of blood not its own.
For a half-second, Kemli Imrakson pondered if it had time to feel disappointment at the taste before it started screaming in pain from the sack full of Troll vomit he had flung into its open mouth. In the next, he was already flinging another, this one more thin-skinned at the canopy above the crowd while they were still staring at their new chieftain writhing on the ground. One toss of a sling later, and they were joining in, save for two brays which had been standing further from the crowd, apprehensive of being torn to shreds or stepped on by 'accident'. Crossbow made short work of them.
Now that silence was fallen, it was time to get to the true extent of the work; noting down the results.
A set of especially long tongs plucked out the torn out sacks from the midst of the pile of corpses, setting them down into an orderly pile before being tucked back into Kemli's pack. In their place emerged a set of gloves made of a Troll's stomach bag, much like the two sacks.
"Let's see here... Test Number ninety-eight of the Trollgut Satchel Bomb. Gauging by the lack of a corroded trail from where the bomb was launched, the seams and seals seem to hold up under the strains of being slung and the subsequent flight. As I had anticipated, moving onto a different stitch pattern from model sixty-five to sixty-six has improved the consistency of the ruptures on impact. The level of lethality has remained much the same across the prototypes, though the speed at which it kills leaves a great deal to be desired. Still, this newest round of testing has proven quite successful."
The remains of the two sacks went into a pouch on Kemli's belt, also made from a Troll's stomach. It wouldn't do for any residue of the contents to damage his regular pack. "Now then. Time to finish up here."
It was the work of a few moments to remove the quarrels from the bodies of the two brays. It took rather longer to conceal the wounds by smashing a sizable stone onto them.
Finally, Kemli stood before the tribe's bonfire, grasping their banner, made from rawhide and scrawled on without much care, bah. At least none of the materials showed signs of being pillaged. He tossed it into the flames without ceremony or preamble. Time was running short.
The Rangers of Kraka Drakk ventured far and wide in their efforts to deal with threats to Dawi before there would be a need to send out a Throng. Yet, such could still be found further afield than even they would regularly patrol, so a more efficient approach was called for. The beasts were known to prize the banners of their individual tribes greatly, enough so that the theft of such could drive them to each other throats. Well, more so than usual, that is. By all the signs he had left here, any who were called by the screams would find a slaughter that looked to have been done by trolls, whom he knew from his notes on this region had sizable numbers present.
There wasn't much that could bring tribes of Gors together. Nothing short of Dumi did it so well as an outside attack. His work here meant it was likely the two foes would turn to fighting each other for at least a month or two, depending on the conflict's intensity.
Kemli Imrakson vanished among the trees, leaving only the wind and the crackle of fire to break up the newly found silence in the clearing.
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AN: Hope you enjoyed this, feedback is welcome.
