That’s what Finbar’s mother had used to say when he was very young. Before she sold him to the dwarves, that is. Warcleric Ragnor had helped him with that. Long excercises of meditations and discipline had not been easy for Finbar. But he had endured. Spirit Ranger Floki had also helped him. And generally, it was only around giants and trolls that he still completely “LOST IT”. But a baby owl bear?
To be true to himself, Finbar didn’t really care about owl bears, and it always seemed better to have less of them in the world than more. He wasn’t as sentimental as the humans about babies. A hunting wolf will go for the weakest in the pack, will it not? But it was the quick temper that was worrying Finbar. He had to keep it under control.
So, he felt quite proud of his own restraint in dealing with the stinking hulking horrible stupid hill giant. Even Ragnor would have been surprised. But these defilers of Droskar….. NO! NO! NO! Not Droskar! Beloved God! How could they? Luckily, Harkon was a man of justice. And a man who also seemed to like a good hot cross pun.
Actually, Finbar didn’t like having to break the finger of his officer. The officer had been doing well in most other things, and it wasn’t HIS fault that the drunken guard was discovered. But Finbar had learned through the Dwarves of Golushkin that discipline must be enforced. So Helga would have some help in the forge for a while. But hopefully the guard would never drink on duty again. And the officer would be extra vigilant.
“Just keep it reel, Finbar!” he thought to himself. “Keep calm…and carry on!” Thank the flaming fires of Droskar that Catheshal had kept him in check. Yes, justice must prevail! But less of the temper, he mused. The Hot Cross Sons of Droskar served better than the lethal leprosy of veridian glass cutting off heads in fury. There was a lesson to be learned there.