Bullroarer

 




Bandobras was weary as he tied his pony outside the cave. Goblin tracks were all around. He was sick of goblins, and the quicker he dispatched these last few, the quicker he could get back to his farm and his ale keg.

He towered over his fellow halflings, and if any had doubted his primacy, he had sealed it at Battle of Greenfield last week. He had knocked the goblin chieftain off his feet with a club and finished him with an old Elven sword he had "borrowed" from the mathom-house at Michel Delving.

Already, they were telling tall tales about the battle, and they got taller every day. Some even claimed he had knocked off the goblin's head with his club. Ridiculous.

Bandobras didn't really care about all this acclaim. He wanted to get some rest and some beer in his belly.

He just needed to finish off the last stragglers that had retreated to this abandoned troll cave.

"Do you want us to go with you?" one of his companions asked. He was clearly not enthusiastic.

"No," Bandobras said plainly. "I'll go with you. I expect you want them gone too, and I ain't the town rat-catcher."

The goblins fought hard, but the Shire folk were determined, even the unenthusiastic ones. At last, there was one goblin left standing.

Bandobras spat at the wretched creature's feet and turned away. "Let him go. He'll tell the others never to come this way again."

And he was right.






Inspired by the Lord of the Rings saga by JRR Tolkien.
Art and words by Mickey Kulp

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