Role

Chapter 3

With a vicious *THUD* the robed man tumbled to the ground as the wind was
knocked out of him with a tackle. This child meant business. Soon, the
child was on top of the man, sitting on his chest and wielding the forearm
gripping the club. Hammering down on the magi, each blow was directed at the
robed mans forehead or temple as his arms raised to defend the flurry of blows.
Between hits, the red-skinned man attemped to raise his hand and barely got
out the word "GHAR" before the next blow came and knocked the words out of
his mouth.

"GHAR-" *CRACK* came the next blow as the robed man raised an arm in protest.
"Ghar-" *CRACK* came the next blow.
"Ghaar-" *CRACK* came another.
"ghar-" *CRACK* and another.

*CRACK* came the last giant blow and the robed mans right eye fell from
the socket as blood pooled beneath his head, the final words slurred from his
mouth, "gharrrrrr" quickly turned to gurgles of blood and finally death.
The child stared down at the convulsing heap of red flesh beneath him and
all was silent in the pasture, even the lambs. Later, he would bury what
remained of the farmer, set the magi corpse on fire, and take off into the
nearby swamp with whatever supplies he could put together. The farmers
neighbors would come to check on him the next day only to find the farm empty
and a hole of loose soil filled with body parts. They would go on to blame
the death of the farmer on the boy, claiming they all warned the farmer and
what a shame it was, sending guards out to look for the boy to pay for his
crimes. The child stayed in hiding for a number of years in complete solitude.
Always he muttered those words with lust for mage blood.
"Ghar."
"GHAR."
"GHAAAAAAAAAARRRRR!"