Hammer 7:  It’s getting rough out here. You’d have thought that we might at least have earned a good night’s sleep after slaughtering slimies. You’d have thought the gods might have smiled on us for that. But maybe they thought hey, there’s a band of brainless tits who think it’s a clever thing to camp down in a forest in the middle of winter in close proximity to a large army of orcs etc. Let’s remind them of all the oh-so-many reasons why they’re wrong. Yeah, there’s nothing like shivering down for a kip in the snow, shagged senseless from a hard day wandering across the icy wilderness and kicking slimy ass only to discover you’re so cold you can’t actually sleep even with enough blankets wrapped around you to look like a small hill. Other bands of wandering sword-slingers, I hear, have wizards or priests who can create magical shelters and can create food and water and warmth. What do we have? We have Holli. Fair play to her, though, she does try to keep people warm at night; it’s just that I’d rather be kept warm by mysterious arcane energy than by a randy gnome. Even the army had, for example, tents and hot food (maybe it was more mud than food, but at least it was hot). What do we have? We have, er… cloaks. And blankets. In the middle of winter.

So yes, maybe we shouldn’t have lit a great big fire when we’re well within the scouting range of an enormous army of orcs and slimies and gods-know-what, but before long it’s either that or freeze to death. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that I finally got warm enough to get to sleep just in time to be woken up in the middle of the night with someone screaming something about ogres and nine-foot tall monsters stomping about the place. They hit hard, too. I see Stalker and Shifty go down one after the other. Like everything else, though, ogres go down when you stick them with enough arrows. That’s what you get for wrecking what little was left of my sleep, you fat-bellied fuckers.

NEXT WEEK: THESE ARE NOT THE ORCISH HORDES YOU’RE LOOKING FOR