The Story of Jamleth the Ogre:
Chapter 1
In which we find...
The life story of a rock.
Motives behind destruction.
The breeding habits of warts.
An ogre's speculation on alcohol.

Inside the swamp was a rock. It was a particularly big rock, large enough to be used in artillery - the term boulder would probably be more proper. But more important than its size was its age - it had sat in that same spot for eons. It was there when the world was created by some omnipotent deity or maybe a chance gathering of atoms. It had seen civilizations rise and tyrants fall. It had seen heroes and monsters vanquished in equal number. It expected to see much more until its un-life was over.

Then it was picked up by an ogre.

He was what many would call 'fearsome', standing several feet above most humans. Various warts* and other unpleasing features rested comfortably on the damp areas of his skin. His face was particularly monstrous, with a jaw that he had probably stolen from a gorilla and teeth he had 'borrowed without asking' from a T-Rex. Both the jaw and the teeth were working together to make a grin, but they were failing miserably. The end result looked more like the sort of grimace that torture victims get when they see the instrument of torture. But the ogre was still happy.

The rock was the last one on his territory. He'd managed to make the entirety of that small part of the swamp entirely rock free, from the smallest to the largest. Now, they sat in a large wall just along the edge of his 'turf'. He didn't expect anyone to come and bother him after that. But there was still that one. It had taken him several days to pry the boulder from its foundation in the dirt, but it was well worth the effort. The boulder represented the cleansing of the swamp and, metaphorically, his soul.

Alright, that was complete and utter nonsense. He just had a minor case of OCD and wanted to live in a nice and clean swamp (which was something of an oxymoron).

He had been living a relatively peaceful existence in his swamp, getting along fine with the local village. But something had gripped those villagers - maybe alcohol, which Jamleth thought was a terrible drug when compared to cigars - and had caused a few of their young men to become "adventurers". Had the ogre known how to read and write, he would have submitted an entry to the Thesaurus under the word 'murderer'. That didn't really matter now, though. What mattered was getting a little peace, a little quiet, and getting this damn rock out of his swamp!

He threw the rock.

Thud.

"Cor, ye almost knocked me damn head off!" cried a voice. It was that of Crispin d'Arte, halfling highwayman and expert at mispronouncing small words but pronouncing the big ones correctly. The ogre raised an eyebrow, scratching his head in utter confusion. It was good that he was doing that, because his lower area needed a break. It was going to be a long day, he thought.

*That isn't to say he had a tendency to get warts more than humans or the other sentient races did. He just had more skin, and thus, while the same ratio applied, it resulted in a larger spectrum of blemishes and in tandem a greater amount of warts. This principle is known as 'Pythaklos' Wart Creme v. 3 see back label'.

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~ "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

~ "The best way to fight the devil, if not with holy scripture, is to jeer at him - for he can not stand to be scorned."

~ "An atheist is just a person God hasn't met yet."