The Chronicles of Runic #4

We last left our determined detective in the hands of a gang of muscle-bound Burun henchman. His mission is to find the masked armoredillo rustlers and his search has brought him to the Browerk Burun known simply as "The Chief"...

Magic flashed in the darkness, blades and gnashing teeth exchanging deadly swipes in the brief glow of unleashed lightning. I felt claws dig into my side as the excited creatures swarmed around us. The soft thump of a drum echoed behind me as I felt a burn pass through my body, like a taut rope slipping through my soul. It was regenerative, soothing as an aftereffect. I pressed my boot into a Ruruk's eye and knocked his Broodu friend into the swamp. Perhaps his toady cousins took him in because I didn't see the creature surface again.

"Enough!" squeaked the Ruruk, his airsac puffing in and out excitedly under my pressing foot.

"Where's The Chief?" said my Tumerok companion, a Betty that might have wowed a Tumerok fella for all I knew about what it was to be scaly and tailed.

"The Croaker's Club, near the Rehir's Mound to the north."

We left the Ruruk to slink away and lick his wounds, heading north towards the mound.

"You know this place?" I said, stepping knee-deep into the marsh.

"Naw," said the giant Tumerok friend of my female guide.

She shook her head in agreement. "Shouldn't be too hard to spot a high roller like this Chief fella, though."

Those lady 'Roks must be the sharp ones of their species. She was right of course. The Chief was lounging on a slimy rock, an entourage of lady Burun around him. The ugly little tramps hopped around, splashing in the muddy water, climbing over their lazy Chief. They weren't the cultured sort. For all I knew we'd stumbled onto a baby Burun mill in operation.

"Chief," called the lady 'Rok. Every Burun froze. "That's you, isn't it?"

The fella stood down from his rock slowly, standing his full, muscular height. He was a frog built to hold Auberean on his shoulders and we just woke him from his little nap.

"Tumerok!"

"Yeah, we heard that one," I said and drew my sword.

But the brute didn't budge, not a flinch. Behind him his cavalcade of monstrous females jabbered and danced, egging on the giant frog-man. Even then he stood threatening us with only his glare from bulbous eyes.

"Chief," I said finally, "We're looking for answers."

He glared at us for an eternity, seconds at most. "Then ask."

"Some yahoos are rustling 'dillos on Linvak. The Chief Moarsman pointed his fin your way."

His air sac bubbled in irritation and the leathery skin over his arms grew taut. "Look in Rakani. You'll find your answers there."

Then he turned his back to us, as if to indicate how little we mattered and hopped lightly back onto his slimy rock. The women hopped around madly, ignoring us for their godly man-frog.

We retreated into the marsh quickly. I realized I had been holding my breath when I exhaled.

"We're getting out of here," the big Tumerok said.

"I don't blame you," I replied, sheathing my sword again.

"Will you need us in Rakani?" said the Tumerok Betty.

I shook my head. They had helped enough, come to face the chief in his own swamp, a nightmare that would wake any Tumerok child in the middle of the night. I watched them summon a swirling violet portal to Asheron knows where and disappear within.

Myself? It was time to see what Rakani held for me.

Runic is getting closer to the mystery of the dillo rustlers. Stay tuned. You never know when another chronicle will roll along!

Gurog Grunts appears every Wednesday here on AC2 Warcry. The opinions expressed here belong to the gruntmaster himself, Theiss. If you wish to grunt about his grunts, grunt to Theiss at editor@warcry.com. Plot? We don't need no stinking plot! A sweet smelling plot would be so much nice, Theiss!