Exton

Tannr watches wide-eyed as Marc returns to the table with a second Guunnar-sized plate of food. "So," Marc says as he eats, "tell me, mon capitan, what is this plan you have that requires the services of The Raving Bitches, eh?"

Tannr grins at the familiar nom du guerre. Formally known as The Ravens, his company of hard-bitten mercs have been known as The Raving Bitches since time out of mind. Leaning close, he explains the outline of his plan. When he's done, the Gallic merc lets out a low whistle. "Are you certain, mon ami, that you would not wish to undertake something difficult? Perhaps you could attempt to castrate a kahligar with a rusty corkscrew." An ironic smile tugs at his lips. "Me, I would give you better odds for success. Invade Underdark, beard the Drow in their very lair, kill a Priestess' guard and slip back out undetected? Pah! It is, how you say, 'a walk in the park', no? Perhaps we could make it more challenging, yes?" The grin widens. "Bien, I have it! What you say - we shave this Priestess' *régions basses while she sleeps?"

"Stop!," Tannr begs, his whole body convulsed with laughter.

"Ah, mon frere, it is good to see you laugh. We will do this thing, you and me, and then we will come back here and drink this town dry. I go now to tell the men." Marc empties his mug at a draught - his plate is similarly empty - and stands, stretching hugely. He bows as he approaches Erik and Star. "M'sieu Erik, Mam'selle Star, much thanks for this so-splendid repast. I shall care for **les grande enfant while he is in Underdark and return him to you without so much as a scratch." He bows again, kissing Star's fingers and strides jauntily away, whistling Three German Officers Crossed the Rhine.


* nether regions

** the large child