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Message: <blockquote data-quote="peteyfrogboy" data-source="post: 1293182" data-attributes="member: 5677">The Forest LordKharton leaped up to the top of the tower, landing with a heavy thud on the ancient stone. He looked out over his domain and smiled. "It is grand, is it not?" he asked one of the guards posted thereat the pinnacle of his fortress."Yes, Lord Kharton," replied the goblin, bobbing his head. "It is big place."The tower had once been an Elvish outpost, though it had been many long centuries since any of the fair folk had set foot there. The central tower was some sixty feet in diameter, tapering slightly over its forty foot height. The roof was a low, fluted cone of bluish metal that still shone in the midday sun despite ages of neglect. The smooth white surface of the stone tower was still flawless where the walls were intact, though much of the south and west faces of the structure had collapsed, and part of the roof on that side had been torn away. Whatever battle had happened there was lost in the past. The breached walls had been rebuilt with crude log construction on the ground floor, with a wide gate set into the southern face of the tower. The upper two floors of the fortress were open to the air, providing only partial cover from the elements for the floors below.Four slender guard towers surrounded the central structure, each accessible only by a walkway from the top floor of the main tower. The one at the southwest corner had been destroyed by the same force that had toppled the fortress's walls, and the walkway to the northwest tower was missing as well. The other two towers were still intact, and they were manned by wary goblin warriors. For twenty yards around the fortress the trees had been cleared, making an easily watched perimeter. Goblins, both on foot and mounted on wargs, patrolled the area.Kharton sighed, glad that he had more than goblins for company here. Granted, his dim-witted guards were the most willing inhabitants of the place, but their conversational abilities were woefully limited. Only two years ago, Kharton himself had been little better. He had lived with others of his kind in the deeper woods -- ogres, Men called them -- clad in simple furs and bashing wildlife with clubs. Kharton was not satisfied with that crude existence. He had seen what Men could create, despite being such small, weak creatures. If they could create great kingdoms, then certainly he could do better.The young ogre had struck out on his own, traveling toward the lands of Men, watching them and studying them when the opportunity presented itself. He found the ancient tower already home to the goblins, who he formed into a disciplined force to serve his will. He rebuilt the lower part of the fortress, creating a more defensible structure. A trade road ran through the woods a few miles away, and he lay in wait with his warriors there. They let many small bands of Men pass by, groups that the goblins would have attacked in the past. Now they had a leader, however, a leader with greater ambitions than simply gnawing on the bones of Men. Eventually he saw his quarry: a pair of wagons heavily loaded with copper mined from the mountains to the south. They were well guarded, but the ambush Kharton planned took them by surprise. Between the numbers of goblins and Kharton's great strength, the Men who guarded the wagons fell like wheat. Soon the ogre was dragging the wagons back through the woods, piled high with plunder and the bodies of his enemies.The great weakness of Men, Kharton decided, was not their lack of strength, but their lust for money. He sent his goblin warriors out to deal with woodsmen in remote parts of the Tanglewood, trading heavy bars of copper for a variety of goods. One of them was even convinced -- with enough copper -- to bring a blacksmith out from one of the towns on the outskirts of the forest. By the time the smith realized he was being brought to meet with goblins, it was too late. They captured him and dragged him back to the fortress. The guards of the copper shipment had been wearing shirts of mail, now ripped and torn by the force of Kharton's blows. The smith was chained to the wall in the lower part of Kharton's stronghold, where he worked night and day to fashion the ruined mail shirts into a single, large garment fit for the ogre's broad frame. He was no skilled armorer, but he knew enough about the craft to be able to make a reasonable attempt. Kharton was well pleased by his civilized armor, though not pleased enough to refrain from eating the smith when he was finished.</blockquote>

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