Turuko

      Coming out of the woods near Hommlet when you note two men standing near the treeline, apparently waiting. After a moment, you recognize the men as Turuko and Kobort, the mercenaries from the Inn of the Welcome Wench. The Bakluni rested easily on a quarterstaff, while his warrior companion stood quietly beside him, wearing splint mail and with a greatsword strapped across his back.   “Greetings,” said Turuko. “Another day of good fortune pillaging the ruin?” His tone was friendly, but his expression was not. “Kobort and I thought to join in your expedition, but a more efficient and far less risky plan occurred to me: just take the treasure from you.”   As the two men took aggressive stances, you hear a loud snort from above and the rustle of branches preceding a yelp as a man falls out of a nearby tree to thump to the ground. This unexpected development gave the would-be assailants pause, moreso when the man’s head pops up and he looks around blearily. You recognize him as Elmo, the happy drunk you had met on the streets of Hommlet previously.   “Interruptin’ me nap, ye blaggards!” Elmo complained, glancing around squintily. The ghost of a smile crossed his face as his eyes fell on *PC*, and he cast a wink her way.   This has nothing to do with you,” said Turuko, trying his best to sound unruffled.   “How’s that, then?” asked Elmo. “Ye look ‘bout ready t’pounce, an’ these are me drinkin’ buddies. Seems t’me if’n ye want t’row wit’em, like as not, I’ll want me a piece o’ th’ fightin’, eh?” He put his fists up like a novice pugilist, then turned and glanced at the party, his expression suddenly uncertain. “Eh?”   Kobort appeared to hesitate, but Turuko was unfazed. “We mean to rob you. Clearly morality is not part of the equation.” The Bakluni looked at his companion and said, “Draw. We will finish this swiftly and be on our way.” The warrior pulled the greatsword from his back and said to Elmo, “Move along, you drunk.”   Elmo gave the man a sly look. “Oy, ye’ve got a cleaver there, aye? So ‘appens I’ve got me a pig-sticker.” He produced a knife, only the gods knew from where. “Me brudder give it t’me, and taught me a t’ing or two ‘bout usin’ it.” He glanced back at the party and held his hand up as though to whisper conspiratorially but spoke at the same volume. “Th’ pointy end goes in th’ other man.”   Kobort glanced at his Bakluni companion. “Turuko, this is … getting more complicated than you said it would be.”   “Be silent!” Turuko insisted, even as Elmo began what appeared to be stretching exercises, limbering up in anticipation of action. The Bakluni frowned at the sight, quickly recalculating the odds. “Bah, this is a waste of time,” he decided. “Kobort, we’re leaving.” He turned on his heel, and the big warrior followed behind him uncertainly.   “Wot?” said Elmo to their backs, having bent over to look between his legs. “Oh, they’re leavin’ eh? Jist as well, really. Me brudder tol’ me never t’stick a man dumber’n meself. T’would be a cruelty, ye see.” He smiled, pleased with himself, sheathed his knife, then walked over to smile at you.   The hairy human hugged you back. “Aye. Lucky ‘twas that I were havin’ me nap, eh?” His eyes twinkled.   Elmo made shooing gestures at the party with a grin. “Get ye along t’town now. Don’t dawdle.”