One of the biggest of the brutish butchers laughed hollowly at the sight of the two bright, slim weapons. Its impure tittering resonated through the soles of the travelers’ feet.
“Puny mortal weapons will not serve here, little meat. We’re going to carve you up, dress you down, and pick our teeth with your bones!”
Something that looked like it had been run over twenty times by a wagon laden with building stone weaved slowly back and forth on powerful, if unsteady, feet. It had one oversized, bloodshot eye and a second that seemed to float around the lower portion of its face like an iniquitous afterthought.
“Use your jugular for a straw and suck your blood. Nice ’n’ salty.”
“Eyes,” declared something else that had no name, nor want of one. “I claim the eyes.”
“Not all eight!” The cleaver-wielding hulk swaying next to it objected strenuously. “Half are mine.” It raised the immense blade.
Holding his sword at the ready, with a tensed Hunkapa Aub guarding his left side, Simna ibn Sind brayed defiance. “Come on then, you piss-poor pack of putrescence! You motherless self-fornicators! We’ll see who’s skilled with a blade here, and who’s ripe for butchering! I’m thirsty, and I mean to drink my fill at your town fountain. And if that means going through you instead of around, then by Gucoron, have at it!” He nodded to his right, where a tall figure stood silently holding a larger sword before him.
“This here is Etjole Ehomba, the most powerful wizard on either side of the Semordria Ocean! Press him, and he’ll blow out your eyes and pickle your entrails!” He gestured with one hand. “Come on then, you long-winded flock of featherless foulness!”