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The whole process took about ten minutes, enough time for Barna to drag three more bodies to the door of the miniature hut. Barna heard a sudden deep breath of air from inside, interrupted by a thud, followed by a string of curses. The chief had woken up, and, as always, shot up into a sitting position, knocking his head on the ceiling.
“Gruumsh’s left eye, Gal! How many times do I have to tell you to lift your ceiling?”
Galliwig laughed, resting his forehead on his hand. “That makes twelve. I did, but I had to raise the altar as the portents dictate that the altar must be a certain height from the roof, not the floor.” Barna stifled a laugh. The so-called ‘certain height’ just happened to be the exact height that only the chief and Mor hit their heads. The portents were also a complete lie, and Barna was the only one who was aware of this. Shortly after, the chieftain crawled out of the tiny temple, grumbling and rubbing his head. “Bloody hells, Chief. It’s not right to question a man’s religion when he’s just saved your life!” He grinned, putting on his best ‘mock-judgement’ voice.
“Can it, Barnathemew. I swear that ceiling gets harder every time!” It did – every time the chief managed to get himself offed, Galliwig would throw a few hardening spells into the wood. He and Barna had a bet going to see which of the two tallest members of the gang would be the first to notice. Barna sighed, knowing he’d have to give the priest his last few crowns.
“Barnathemew? Really? You really did wake up on the wrong side of the crypt.”
“Bite me.”
“Oh, no, the goat’s done that enough for today.”
“Grrrrr”
“Alright, alright, help me clean this place up – we got a lot to do.”
Barna really did enjoy getting a rise out of the boss. Given the loose hierarchy of Bandit gang leadership he knew he could have taken his place – he was much smarter and almost as good at fighting, but he had never wanted the role because of the problems that came with it. Far better to constantly annoy him and occasionally give him the right advice.
The two leisurely carried body after body to the Hut, slowly being joined by seven more of their comrades before Galliwig walked out of the hut with a tiny diamond in his hand. “I’ve got juice for one more spell,” he said, discouraged. “It’s time to get Mor on the altar. “
Looking at each other, Barna and the chief sighed. This was always a painful process. Barna gave the order to bury the rest of the bodies, calling Knicks to help with the massive orc. Knicks had gotten her name for being the only Bandit ever known who was incapable of using a bow or crossbow. The only weapons she had ever had a feel for were the paired throwing daggers that were enchanted to return to her hands after throwing. She’d throw them past someone, just nicking them before calling them back, causing them to dig into the targets’ back. She was also strong and nimble despite her short size, which made her the only way they could have two people inside Galliwigs hut to move the resident orcs’ massive frame.
“I don’t see why we don’t just cut his finger off,” the rogue complained. “Burns more diamond,” Barna grunted in response. “Cheaper to use the whole body.”
The chief snickered from outside, “Is that what the butcher said to the farmgirl?” As the others struggled to manoeuvre the mass of dead weight in his hut, Galliwig allowed himself to get lost in thought. “Yes, on both counts,” he finally chimed. Knicks rolled her eyes sarcastically as Barna’s jaw closed the gap between his head and the ground – a reaction of pure shock that the chief had actually said something that wasn’t just intelligent, but witty even. Knicks noticed this and reminded Barna that the chief was, in fact, male, and the slightly perverse nature of the comment would always compensate for the sheer lack of brainpower in times like this.
It was another ten minutes later that Mor woke up with a start, bashing his head and letting off a chain of curses longer than the chief’s death record. Which, given the size the now tainted diamond had once been, was quite ridiculously long.
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