It was a fine summer’s day and it was raining, but this was little new for the highlands. Outside of the inn at the crossroads between Crief and the highlands upon the drovers road, two men stood in conversation…oblivious to the weather.
'And each turnip represents what?' posed Aedon Finn, a warrior of not twenty summers. His hair pulled back and braided gave his face a hawk-like appearance as he regarded the older man.
'Each of these is the head of an orc warrior broad and strong, young Aedon' replied the elder highland man, his bushy red beard leaning to grey, his frame straining at the chain he wore.
Bristling at the sobriquet Aedon's response was quick and harsh 'Oh aye, and they're what Leslie? Kneeling down conveniently for us?'
Swaying slightly as he placed the final turnip on top the final bucket, Leslie turned to face the slighter man. 'No boy, we are a’horse!' Picking up his warhammer the warrior began to swing, large figure eights crossing either side of his expansive chest. The show of martial prowess was ruined somewhat as he slipped slightly in the slick mud of the courtyard brought on by the rain and too many boots walking through. Stumbling back, his mis-step was accompanied by a sound like thunder which echoed across the yard, his hammer stopped mid-swing splitting the stone wall of the tavern. 'Bugger'and arse to all walls'.
'Are you sure you don't need a sit down? Eight flagons are surely enough to test any man's skill…?' asked Aedon.
'Barely touched a drop' quipped back the old warrior as he began his swing again, cantering toward the line of buckets.
Looking away for fear of embarrassing the older warrior Aedon turned back in shock at the old man’s cry. 'Heeyaagh!' roared Leslie as he gained speed, his hammer now a blur of motion as he charged forward. Striking left then deftly right he wove between the buckets destroying each turnip in turn with a single blow. The last was destroyed, bucket and all as the highlander charged on. Knocking down the door to the stable he'd previously opened, Leslie crashed into the darkened room and there was silence.
Back at the table inside the tavern the veterans noted Finn's return 'How many?'
'Each and every one Ewan, that and a wall and a barn door' replied Aedon.
'That'll be six stell apiece you owe me then, we’ll not count the collateral damage into my winnings! Where is the old boar now?' Ewan Mhor asked gleefully.
'Sleeping with his horse…I fear he drinks too much'
With a wry smile Ewan asks 'Anyone care to place a wager to see if he'll remember how he got there?