He lurched powerfully through the open gates, his sword drawn in anticipation. He eyed every corner of the street before him, ready for attack. Suddenly he heard a voice.

"You need not brandish that here!"

He spun about to see the gatekeeper, who had come down from his lofty station.

"I never leave my trusty weapon farther afield than an arm's grasp," muttered Asgarth, sheathing the blade reluctantly. "My enemies are many, and danger is afoot."

"The King Machachata, would see you, Asgarth the Invincible," quoted the gatekeeper, a small, old man with greying hair and beard. "You are protected in this city. At the moment the King is occupied with important affairs of state, but if you wish to rest yourself after your weary travels, that tavern house over there does a good tankard of ale."

Asgarth looked to where the curious little man pointed, to a tavern house with a sign outside swaying gently in the evening breeze. "The Pig and Poke," he read aloud, slowly. "Very well, trusty gateman; I shall rest my weary legs here awhile, until the King is ready for my audience."

With that, he strode into the tavern. It was full of men laughing, and buxom wenches leaning over tables and fetching empty tankards. Asgarth made his way through the crowds of people to the corner of the bar, where a group of Rangers, not unlike those he had encountered on the Plains of Corilth, were sat, having a boisterous conversation.

He threw a coin at the serving wench. "A tankard of fine ale, and be quick about it!" he verbalised. As she fetched his ale, he listened in to the Rangers' conversation.

"Aye," said the first Ranger, a large, strong-looking man clad in the dark Ranger cloak and boots, quaffing his ale, "surely the fairest maiden in the land is none other than the Princess Adora!"

"Certainly," quoted the man besides him, "a handsome figure she may be; but I would rather face the Puss-Thing of Kraxia than the fiery tempest of her temper!"

"True," admitted the first. He raised his tankard. "A man needs no troublesome woman to be satisfied! What man needs more than to feel a fresh wind on his face, a warm sun on his back, and to have the finest mare this side of the Valleys of N'Pass between his thighs?"

The group of Rangers all cried their agreement. Suddenly, a tankard of ale smashed on the wall above their heads, showering them in ale. The head Ranger, angry at the rude interruption, traced the trajectory of the tankard to its origin, where he saw Asgarth's stretched-out hand, now clenched in anger.

"Your talk both bores and offends me," growled Asgarth. "For what man would chose a dumb, four-legged beast over the comeliest wench in the Middle Kingdoms?"

The head Ranger rose to his feet. "Who are you, rogue, and what do you want?"

"It matters not," muttered Asgarth. "I need not fear five weedy saplings like yourselves!"

The Ranger drew his sword. "Barbarian," he gasped, "you think with your loins and say too much with your mouth. Methinks you should be relieved of both organs!"

He raised his blade and charged at Asgarth. "Die, barbarian!" he bellowed.

Asgarth whipped out his weapon and in a swift arc, sliced off the man's head and both his arms, blood spewing from the gaping orifices and covering Asgarth in red fluid. He laughed in enjoyment. "Have at you, cowards!" he articulated.

The rest of the Rangers drew their swords and rushed at him. "Prepare to meet your doom, barbarian!" one spat, and Asgarth buried his blade up to its hilt in the man's chest. As he withdrew the blood-smeared weapon, three bodies crumpled to the ground, and Asgarth saw that he had impaled two other attackers behind the first! He laughed as the corpses piled up, pouring gore and death all over the floor and walls of the tavern.

"My floor, my finely polished and lovingly cleaned floor, stained with the adhesive texture of life-blood! You must cease this slaughter!" vociferated the barkeep.

Asgarth pointed his sword at the swarthy, balding, overweight tavern owner. "Silence, knave, or you shall share the fate which I shall soon dish out to this one remaining assailant!" he grumbled.

The last Ranger readied his sword before him. "Lowly barbarian pig," he puled. "Thou hast slain my Ranger brothers - for this, thou must die!"

"No!" hollered Asgarth valiantly, sheathing his sword. "Such senseless slaughter as this pleases me not. Go, young one. I will not bloody my sword with your claret this day. Go!"

The Ranger clambered to the door. "I shall avenge the deaths of my brothers," he sighed. "One day, barbarian, thou shalt feel the sharp bite of my blade in thine bowels!" He slammed the door and was gone.

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