<span style="color: Red">Then you know of the camp? Good.</span>Cruran said and looked over the crowd. They either didn't know or had forgotten.<span style="color: Red">You continue to breathe because you were attacked by <i>half</i> of their force.</span>Cruran informed the crowd.<span style="color: Red"><i>Half.</i></span>He repeated again, sharply. He wanted the word to sink into the villagers minds.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">And yes. Good idea.</span>Cruran uttered, mockingly. He stared down the woman on the horse and stood up, walking toward her slowly.<span style="color: Red">Prepare to defend another attack. Give your enemies time to learn of their leader's death. Give them time to regroup, to find a new leader. Give them time to gather their strength and surge over your battle weary, sleepless rabble!</span>He shouted over the villagers.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">If you want to die gloriously, then yes! Wait!</span>He looked back at the woman of steel and her men.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">Or, if you want to live, give me four of your strongest looking men, arm us like the champions from the old tales, give us horses, and we will carry the bandit king's head to that camp while he yet remains it's king!</span>Cruran roared at them. It was as much for show as it was in anger for their complacency.<br/><br/>Cruran suppressed a wince. The pain was beginning as it always did after a battle. the cuts and bruises were making themselves known, and the gash across his shoulder blade would not soon let him forget his misstep.<span style="color: Red">And bring me a bushel of Maiden's Tongue.</span>Cruran turned to walked back to his perch on the stair then stopped and shook his head, looking back.<span style="color: Red">Er, Elf Root... whatever you wish to call it.</span>By irony, he now had something to thank the girl for - she had taught him a useful word.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>