The Saga Of Hagar The Hunter

Genghis slapped the chunk of meat out of the Ogre's hand.
“You lost them? A herd of mammoth and you lost them?” Hagar trembled at the abuse but held his ground. His position as Head Hunter of the Gaki-Mols was only held thanks to the support of his powerful leader, who was currently threatening Hagar with the most vile recipes - Hagar as the main course…
“They disappeared, Genghis. They were there, I saw their tracks, and they just disappeared.”
“Mammoth don't fly, you elf, were they flying mammoths?” Though the lowest form of wit, sarcasm was often used by Genghis when pressing a point. Thus he was often known as Witless, much to the dismay of those caught calling their leader names.
“I don't know, maybe they got magicked away?”
“Yes, Hagar, someone needed a herd of mammoth and decided to just magick them off to get eaten? Who magicked them? Call yourself a hunter…”
“Genghis, they just plain gone.” Hagar saw a gleam appear in his tyrant's eyes and felt fear for the first time in hours.
“Well, you'd better find them then, hadn't you?”
“Where?”
“Wherever my mammoths flew to, that's where.”

And so was Hagar, formerly the Head Hunter of the Gaki-Mols of the Western Pass, given his quest, his mission. To bring a Flying Mammoth back to Genghis the Witless. Despite the absurdity of his quest, Hagar knew his only option was success or exile. His only two options were success or exile or death. His only three options…

While the best trackers can follow a fish's trail through a running stream, Hagar was not one of these. His claim to the title of Head Hunter was his speed, the fastest Ogre in the Western Mountains. He was renowned for running down a White Bear and killing it with his bare spear, a bear who's pelt now graced Hagar's back. But as the once-feared Ogre roasted the dwarves he'd caught over an open fire, he was downcast as only an Ogre can be.
How to find a Flying Mammoth? Then how to catch it? Hagar remembered how he'd really caught his bear, and the answer to the catching came to him. Find the nest, and then wait for the mammoth to go to sleep… The plan slowly formed in Hagar's mind, with just one small problem. He didn't know where a Flying Mammoth would nest. But there was one Ogre in the Western Mountains who would know… Skragg… But that was a problem for another day. The stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky above, and the little clearing Hagar had camped in looked safe. Deciding the time was right, Hagar began to catch a wink or forty.

The sun, hot on Hagar's face, woke him the next morning. Groaning as he propped himself up on his elbow, the mighty Ogre's sight cleared enough for him to see the rest of his clearing, and he was startled. The clearing he'd thought himself in, ringed by pine trees, and nice, flat and rectangular, was in fact not a clearing. It stretched as far as the eye could see to the left, and as far again to the right. On either side it was bordered by trees, some big, some small, but all in very straight lines. Realization dawned on the quick-thinking Ogre. He was on a Road. One of those human contraptions that allows people to move very fast from one place to another, without the boredom of traveling the wilderness.
It was as he pondered the uses of the Road that Hagar heard a sound, a chattering that he had not heard since the day before. The noise filled him with dread, a reminder of the hideous existence that drove Hagar away from the comforts of the tribal dwellings. He heard the chattering of Gnoblars.
“Cor he's a big un innie?”
“Strike me he et too much.”
“He look full.”
“ 'Ats Dwarfie bones ‘at is.”
“Quiet!” bellowed Hagar, his tired brain not able to turn the words of the diminutive Gnoblars into coherent sentences. “What do you want?”
The Gnoblars, who had shrunk back from Hagar's yell, began to shuffle forward again. After a brief scuffle to determine who would speak, the biggest among them took a brave step forward, half a dozen back, and another one for good luck.
“We is come to tell you that Ghengis is sorry, he don't want you to bring back the Flyin' Mammoffs.” Hagar was relieved at this, he could return to his hovel and sleep in less discomfort than he faced in the wild.
“You ‘as only got to bring back one Flyin' Mammoff.”

Hagar's heart sunk back down to its normal resting place, somewhere between his left and right ankles. He needed intelligence, and he needed knowledge, if he were going to track down this animal. Hagar had neither.
“Oi, you Gnoblars, which of you is the best at thinking things?”
“I am.” Claimed the tallest one proudly. “I think things ‘at were never thunk before.”
“Right then,” Hagar growled, “You're coming with me.” Grabbing the Gnoblar by the scruff of the neck, he set off down the Road to find a mammoth. Which flew. And catch it. It ain't easy being an Ogre.

Minutes later, as Hagar was stalking down the Road, he heard a noise he hadn't heard for several minutes. The chattering of Gnoblars.
“We're coming too, you can't have all the fun.” Said one as he could up. Before Hagar could tell the Gnoblars where they could stick themselves, the big Gnoblar answered for him.
“Rack off, this Ogre's mine.”
“No ‘e ain't, I saw ‘im first.” After a brief scuffle for supremacy, brains and brawn had beaten a lack of either, and Hagar was holding his Gnoblar by the ankle.
“I'm taking this one. And only this one. And that's an end of it.” Again Hagar stalked off, and this time the Gnoblars did not even wait to follow. After snacking on a few of them, the rest got the idea that they would be better off being eaten by Ghengis, and ran back to their Stronghold. Just as Hagar had settled into a loping run that would carry him forward for at least a while, he heard yet another noise. This was not a squeaky little voice though, but a deep booming baritone that had Hagar quivering in fear.
“Stand and deliver sir!” Stepping out from behind a copse of trees was an Ogre garbed in the gaudiest mess of material that Hagar had ever imagined would be called clothes. Bright striped trousers were held up by a green belt. The Ogre went barefoot, and his shirt was too short, but the assortment was capped off by a magnificent, large brimmed pointy hat. Under the hat stood the largest, meanest looking Ogre that Hagar had met, one of his eyes covered by a ragged black patch, and rather than meet force with force, he decided that discretion would be the better part of valor.
“I got nothing to deliver.”
“Then what am I going to do with you? You look quite plump sir, should I eat you?”
“Me?” gasped Hagar, “Oh no I'm terribly tough and chewy.”
“Ah, I had hoped we could come to some arrangement. Never mind sir, draw steel.”
“What do you mean?”
“I challenge you to a duel!” cried the Ogre, stepping forward to slap Hagar across the cheek. Picking himself up, Hagar declined politely.
“No I insist, if you do not defend yourself I will slay you where you stand.”
“And if I do defend myself?”
“I will slay you where you stand.” At this, Hagar turned to run, but as he turned, he realized that several of the strange Ogre's friends had appeared behind him, blocking his escape. Grumbling that this wasn't fair, Hagar loosed his spear, pulling it around in front of him. The other Ogre drew a shiny, curved sword from a jeweled scabbard, and slowly circled Hagar. Feigning a thrust, which Hagar moved to block, the Ogre span around to deliver a backhand slice aimed at Hagar's throat. Barely managing to sway away from the cut of his opponent's weapon, Hagar was just able to bring his spear up to block an overhead cut that would have split his skull. As his spear met the sword head on, the wood split, and the tip of Hagar's spear was cut clean off.
“Haha, not so good as you though you were sirrah! Fare well.” But before his enemy could finish Hagar off, the Ogre's menacing face contorted, and he screamed through clenched teeth.
“Aieee ooh ooh ohh, get it off me!” With agony written over his face, the Ogre danced around. Hagar could see his Gnoblar, teeth clamped onto the most sensitive of areas, hanging on for dear life.
“Will you let me go if I call him off?”
“Yes, yes, anything please oww oww oww!”
“You can let go, gnobbie.” With a satisfied smirk on his face, the Gnoblar disengaged himself, and strolled over to where Hagar was standing.
“What do I call you, little Gnoblar?”
“I is called Groinbiter.”

The third day dawned much as the previous two had, in fact, it was almost exactly the same as every other dawn that anyone could remember, but this one was different. The fire had almost died out, just a few glowing coals remaining, and Hagar's tent had fallen apart. But one thing was noticeably different. The Gnoblar Hagar had taken with him asked him a question.
“Why are we walking down this road?” squeaked Groinbiter. “It don't go anywhere now does it?”
“Of course it goes somewhere.” Hagar replied gruffly. “It goes there.” Pointing to down the Road showed nothing but more road, and the Ogre had to admit that the little green fellow was right. “Okay, well where else will we find Skragg?”
“What are you looking' fer Skragg for? He's a nasty one he is.”
“I need to find the nest of the flying mammoths.
“Oh, nothing doing, have a nice time…” Groinbiter attempted to scamper away from Hagar but the Ogre was too quick, catching him by the scruff of his neck.
“What,” asked Hagar in his most polite yelling voice, “Do you know about flying mammoths?”
“Well, they're this Gnoblar legend passed down by speaking. They have this big nest up in some mountain, but no one ‘as ever found ‘em and come back alive.”
“I have to get one of them. I have to or else I will have to wander along by myself for the rest of my days.”
“Wif yer trusty Groinbiter by your side…”
“No. If I don't find the flying mammoths I'll eat my trusty Groinbiter. And if he doesn't help me find the mammoths, I'll hunt him down and eat him.” The Gnoblar looked startled at this, and started sidling away.
“And I am the best Hunter in my tribe, so don't think I can't track you down.” At this, Groinbiter decided to stay and help Hagar. After all, following a crazy Ogre who was looking for the Legendary Flying Mammoths' Nest was better than discovering the dietary habits of said Ogre firsthand.

*****

Hagar's exchange with Groinbiter was not the private shouting/squeaking match that the participants had imagined. From behind a copse of pine trees, they were being watched. An eye was visible through a small gap between two of the trunks. The other eye was covered by a patch, tattered yet unmistakably black. “Well sir, you haven't got away yet says I…”

*****

The canyon Hagar and Groinbiter were walking through was, in the Hunter's opinion, the perfect place for an ambush. The canyon was narrow enough that three men could block the escape. Or one Ogre.
“Sir, I see you still have nothing to deliver. So let us skip the pleasantries and do our best to kill each other.”
“Quick,” whispered Hagar, “Bite him again, and I'll run.”
“Sure thing boss.” Whispered back Groinbiter, and charged the brutish Ogre, ducking under a blow of the vicious curved sword, teeth again clamping down. But this time it was the Gnoblar who screamed in pain, as his teeth met solid metal, not the soft flesh he was aiming for. The Ogre lifted up Groinbiter by the ear, and dropped him into a sack. Swiftly knotting the end, the sack was then discarded. Hagar watched in disbelief as the Ogre reached into his breeches and removed a large metal shield, with prominent tooth marks now etched into the surface.
“Now, where were we?” The larger Ogre again circled Hagar, who realized that there would be no easy way out this time. But out of the corner of his eye, Hagar saw something that surprised him more than the Ogre's sudden reappearance.
“Look, a flying mammoth!”
“Haha, twill take more than the old ‘look there's a flying mammoth' trick to fool Raphael, so it will.” Hagar was yet again surprised.
“Raphael? What sort a name is that for an Ogre?”
“It is my name,” said Raphael proudly, “Which I have proudly borne for…” He was stopped mid-speech as Hagar's thrown spear hit him in the forehead. Unfortunately, as Hagar was yet to repair the spear, Raphael was little more than dazed, and he tottered backwards. Hagar charged away, risking a quick glance over his shoulder. To his amazement, Raphael tripped on a sack lying in the middle of the canyon floor, and fell, striking his head on a rock. His flight reversed, the Hunter risked looking at the Ogre now lying prone next to the sack. The large Ogre was only unconscious, it appeared, and from the sack a small sound issued.
“Try to stop a Gnoblar will you? Groinbiter Tripperer got you in the end though…”
Hagar was about to finish off the other Ogre, but the sound of several more equally large enemies racing down the canyon prompted him to decide to flee again. Grabbing his sacked Gnoblar, Hagar took to his heels.

Much later, emptying Groinbiter onto the ground, Hagar growled at him.
“Where can I find a flying mammoth?”
The Gnoblar's ears trembled at the low grumble of the angry Ogre. “Inna nest.”
“And where's this nest?”
“You gotta go to the Gnoblar wise woman fer that. Only she knows.”
“A Gnoblar wise woman. I'm yet to meet a wise Gnoblar.” Hagar shook his head. “But that's all I have, so I'll go and find her I guess.”
“I'll show you to her myself,” squeaked Groinbiter. Then, more quietly, “She's me mum.”

*****

The hut was built, it seemed, out of dust. Ancient animal hides were now threadbare and flapped loose in the breeze. No sane Gnoblar would live in it, mused Groinbiter. But it was home.
“Mum, are you in?” he called nervously. “Mum?”
“Is that you, Groinbiter?” The voice from the hut was tired and old, yet still piercing in pitch. “I've bin waiting for yer.” A stooped figure came out of the hut. While a normal Gnoblar would come up to Hagar's knee, this one stooped over so far that the old lady would struggle to headbutt Hagar's shin. He was proved wrong, however, when she walked straight into his leg, her old skull making a nasty clacking sound with the Ogre's leg. She looked around wildly, and Hagar realized that she was blind as a bat. And quite batty too.
“You ungrateful Gnoblar, you, running off, your dinner stone cold without so much as a by your leave, gallivanting off to who knows where, me and your father worried sick about you…”
Her voice trailed off as she ascended into the air. Hagar had picked her up by the stick, and a few carefully deliberated words were in order. “Please do NOT poke your stick into my nose any more.” He let go, and the wise woman collapsed in a heap with her stick.
“Groinbiter,” the old lady croaked, “Who's this handsome fellow you've brought back with you?”
“Ah, mum, he's an Ogre.”
“Oh…”

*****

Stroking her beard, the wise woman outlined the route that Hagar had to take. It sounded perilous, fraught with danger, but Hagar knew it was his only chance for getting back into his tribe. Life on the road with a Gnoblar could be entertaining, thought Hagar, but the entertainment value soon wore off, and he was feeling homesick. In a rush to get the job done, he grabbed Groinbiter and headed for the door.
“Just you wait one minute young man,” commanded the wise woman, her voice suddenly full of authority, “You haven't let me finish, I was going to tell you…” But Hagar had left, and the old woman soon realized that she was talking only to the air.

*****

Outside, Hagar realized that much of the day had been passed listening to the old woman. He doubled his pace, Groinbiter tripled his, and they soon were on their way again. Their path took them back down the mountain, into the woods again. “Where are you going?”  A voice, heavily accented, followed by an Ogre, emerged from behind a tree.  This Ogre was clad in only breeches, but carried a very large handgun.  Two more comparably sized weapons were stuffed in his gutplate, and an even larger gun slung over his back.  Hagar decided that he would not argue with this formidable arsenal, and replied.
“We're looking for the nest of the flying mammoths.”
“Me too.” Groinbiter squeaked.  The other Ogre though, studied the two individuals before him.  Hagar could almost see cogs turning in the Ogre's head.  None too bright, but dangerous, he decided.  Anyone carrying that many guns was dangerous.
“I'll come with you then.”  Great, though Hagar, another tagger-alonger. 
“You can follow us, but first tell us your name.”
“My name is Arnie.” The Ogre's accent made the name sound more like “Mai nehm is Ah-Nee.” 
“Well, Arnie, why do you carry so many guns.?”  The innocent question deserved a response, and Arnie leveled his handgun at a nearby sapling.  A brief explosion later, and the top half of the tree fell down, leaving just a shattered stump.
“Boom, hur hur hur…”

Arnie was not the quietest of traveling companions. Hagar was the stealthiest of Ogres, and the trail he left was only wide enough for two men to walk abreast. Arnie had no idea of how to tread quietly. Actually, that wasn't quite true. For all Hagar knew, Arnie was treading very quietly. But his stealthy steps were drowned out by the frequent calls of “Boom… hur hur hur,” that accompanied another small tree being blown apart. So, with Groinbiter clutching his ears, Hagar attempting to grab the diminutive creature and pull him off the hunter's head, and Arnie being as quiet as a cannon salvo, it was hardly surprising that all three stumbled right into the patrol. Hagar looked up, saw spears being hurriedly leveled his way, and decided to make a decision. Fight or flight. Realizing that he was no master of aviation, Hagar pulled out his club, all that remained of his once-sturdy spear. He bellowed. So did Groinbiter. So did the pair of handguns that Arnie had pulled out of his gutplate.
The empire patrol didn't know quite what had hit them. They soon realized that it was a pair of small cannonballs, shot from the laughing Ogre's guns. Their routine had been livened up in the worst possible way, and they were at a loss as to how to approach a battle with such creatures. Two of their number were down, the rest squared off against the creatures who had emerged from the woods.
Eman had barely been enlisted when he was sent off on his first patrol. He had barely left when they had got lost. They had barely got lost when they were jumped by a pair of Ogres. And now, the small green creature following the Ogres was howling and running, straight at Eman. He leveled his spear, and the Gnoblar whimpered, squealed, raised its hands and ran away. As Eman turned back to the main fight, he realized the Gnoblar had stopped at the edge of the trees, pulled a sling out of its pocket, and scooped up a handful of stones. Eman saw the trick and turned back to the Gnoblar, only to be hit in the face by a packet of gravel. As he wiped his eyes, he felt a trickle of blood from a cut above his eyebrow. Cursing, he started towards the Gnoblar again, only to be hit by more stones. Struggling to clear his vision, he saw that the Gnoblar had run back towards him, mouth agape, teeth bared. Shaking his head to clear it, Eman opened his eyes just as Groinbiter's teeth clamped down. Rolling back up into his head, the eyes decided it was time to take a nap. Eman fainted. Meanwhile, Arnie was still laughing.
The remaining dozen or so soldiers charged the big, heavily armed Ogre, who was simply pulling gun after gun out of his gutplate and unloading them into the empire men. Three were down and groaning, the rest decided that anything was better than stopping and being shot. Hagar watched curiously as they closed with his new companion. Out of a scabbard hung over his left shoulder, Arnie pulled a very familiar looking sword. Slicing and dicing happened quickly, and the last couple of soldiers were soon running away, screaming loudly for which ever of their parents was still unaffected by a terribly disfiguring disease. Sheathing his sword, Arnie walked over to the youngest human, lying on the ground, slowly recovering.
Eman awoke. He was upside down, being shaken by a large hand. He looked down the hand, to the arm, then to the neck and finally into the face of the monster controlling the hand. Again, Eman fainted.
Arnie dropped the boy, muttering something about not sending a boy to do an Ogre's job. Then he turned to Hagar, his demeanor changed. Gone was the wild spark in the eyes when he looked upon black powder weapons, instead replaced by a steely glare and superior attitude that Hagar could well remember.
“Well, well, sir, I see we meet again.” Arnie was, somehow, Raphael. Or rather, Raphael was in fact Arnie. The disguise had even fooled Hagar's untrained eye, and Groinbiter viewed the world from not much more than a worm's eye view, and so the hunter was truly shocked at the reappearance of this most dangerous foe.
“Ah, yes… we do.” Turning to run again, Hagar heard, rather than saw, the sound of a large and most likely dangerous gun being cocked.
“Turn around, please. Good, now, on your knees. You have two choices. Beg for mercy before I slay you here and now, or…” Raphael's voice was drowned out by Hagar's sobs and wails.
“Please, don't hurt me, I beg, no, I have children, I had children, I'm the last of my line, I want to…” Hagar's voice was drowned out by Raphael's howls and shrieks. As his formidable enemy danced around on the spot, Hagar saw the cause of his discomfort. A carefully placed blow to the frantically wheeling Ogre's head saw him lying out cold on the grass. Groinbiter gave another gnaw, and disentangled himself from the fallen Ogre's body.
“No silly bag to hide behind this time…”

Strolling once more down the Road, Hagar turned to his Gnoblar.
“Where did your mother say we were going?”
“Down tha Road, turn left at tha Fork, then go up tha mountain. Flying Mammoth's up the top.”
“Right.”
“No, left.”
“I meant ‘right' as in ‘all right, I know what you're talking about', not ‘right' as in ‘we actually turn right'.”
“Sorry mista Ogre, I was with you all the way till you said “I meant.” The pair had left Raphael tied to a tree, eaten his clothes, and painted him blue. Blue was the colour of food, in Gaki-Mol tradition, and any passing Ogre would realize that the trussed Ogre was, in fact, a snack. Laughing heartily, they proceeded to get lost, taking some time to find their Road again. Hagar kept a watchful eye out for another patrol, but he didn't see sign of anything resembling lunch. The road wove its way through clumps of trees, copses of trees, and small groups of trees, leaving the path shaded, and cool despite the bright sun that threatened to make their trek quite uncomfortable. Now, they came to the Fork, and Hagar stopped suddenly. Whispering in his must hushed roar, the Ogre asked the Gnoblar a most distressing question.
“What did your mother say was guarding the Fork?”
“A giant innit?”
“Yes. A giant. Guarding the Fork.” Hagar looked less than excited about the prospect of meeting a giant in the flesh, and turned to leave. But, as Hagar stood over ten feet tall, the giant saw the hunter. Looming over the now-dwarfed Ogre, the behemoth spoke in a slow, gravelly voice.
“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Ogre.” The giant hefted its club. On closer inspection, Hagar realized that the giant was, in fact, hefting a large tree, and he decided that he was slightly out of his league here. His terrified gaze traveled down the tree, along the tanned, heavily muscled arm, to the torso that was as wide as Hagar was tall. He raised his gaze to meet the giant's, and inhaled. Spluttering, he exhaled. This particular giant was obviously unaware as to the advantaged of oral hygiene.
“Phew, that smells a bit.” The giant was taken aback. Then it was taken aforward, brandishing its tree menacingly.
“Watch it, Ogre, don't talk like that about me.”
“Ah, sorry. Well, don't attack me with a tree.”
“Deal.” Hagar was surprised at this, and decided that he would be able to walk past the giant easily now that they had a truce. Well, Hagar had a truce, the giant had a spruce, and as Hagar picked up his quietly gibbering Gnoblar and strode off, his third sense (his sense of hearing), registered a swishing sound. His fourth sense (common sense) told him to duck, which he did, the outer branches of the tree brushing over the Ogre's back. Rolling over, Hagar looked up into the face of the giant again, now curled into an angry snarl.
“No-one goes down the right path!” he roared, swinging the tree again. Hagar rolled the other way, this time getting hit in the side by a particularly large branch. Inspiration came to him suddenly, and he threw the Gnoblar that he still clutched at the giant's groin, crying out.
“Sic him, Groinbiter!” The Gnoblar sailed through the air, still shaking and muttering to himself, and hit the giant exactly as Hagar had aimed. But a Gnoblar is not the most effective projectile weapon, and the giant appeared not to notice. Hagar smiled with triumph. But the Gnoblar did not get up to finish its job, and the giant still loomed over Hagar.
“Don't go down the right path!”
“But I wasn't going down the right path, I was going down the left path.”
“Er, but it was on my right.”
“Look,” Hagar said quickly, while he had the giant's undivided attention, “Turn around, and you'll see that it's actually the left path I was going down. You've been guarding the wrong path.”
“Oh… sorry.”
“Sorry!” Hagar spluttered, “You try to take my head of with that overgrown rolling pin of yours, you scare my Gnoblar, you lie to me, and all you can say is sorry?”
“I could say sorry, or I could take your head off again… your choice.”
“Sorry is good, sorry is very good…” Hagar backed down the left-hand path, mightily relieved.

*****

The episode with the giant behind him, Hagar and Groinbiter hurried down the road. As Hagar hurried faster than his Gnoblar companion, he picked him up and carried him. In this position, the Gnoblar would be unable to weave between Hagar's legs, tripping him up, as so frequently happened. And so it was that Hagar first saw the Mountain of the Flying Mammoths. The rocks reared up out of the forest, surging up towards a cloudless sky. Dark against the bright blue, the rocky slopes looked fierce and unforgiving. The top of the mountain was covered by snow, this icy covering reflecting brightly the afternoon sun's rays. Hagar was excited, the end of his quest was in sight, and he pressed on, telling the Gnoblar slung over his back how impressive the mountain was. Begging to be turned around so he could see himself, the Gnoblar squirmed around until finally he was dropped. Looking up, he saw why he had been dropped. Groinbiter licked his chops, as he gazed upon his old foe. Standing in front of a stunned Hagar was Raphael, the Ogre, still painted bright blue and clad only in a loincloth. But even appearing like this, there was an unmistakable menace in the way that he held his tree, not much smaller than the one Hagar had recently been assaulted with by a giant.

“Eat me!!!” roared Raphael, “Go ahead, just try it.” The mad blue Ogre swung his sapling wildly. Thinking quickly, Hagar spoke to his sidekick.
“Go ahead, eat him… You've done it before.”
“No.” The Gnoblar looked at Hagar with new-found defiance.
“If you don't, I'll let him eat you.” Something was not right here, and Hagar was not sure what it was. But before the Gnoblar could reply, Raphael did.
“Haha, you think my Gnoblar will attack me again ?”
Hagar analyzed the other Ogre's response, and he did not like what he had heard.
“Your Gnoblar?”
“Yes,” Raphael chuckled, “My Gnoblar. Actually, my master's Gnoblar. My master is paying me to find a flying mammoth. When I heard you were going after one, I thought I'd follow you and take it for myself.”
“You were going to steal a mammoth from me?”
“Yes.” Groinbiter had sidled over to the blue Ogre, and was practically cowering. Hagar thought this a wise move. Ogre do not like being betrayed, especially not by people who can't hurt them very badly if they complained. And so Hagar's next move was not entirely unexpected. Teeth bared, howling for vengeance, Hagar hurled himself at his adversaries. His broken spear whistled through the air, and Raphael, surprised by the ferocity of Hagar's attack, jumped out of the way. Groinbiter was not so fast, however, and the tree connected with the Gnoblar's side, breaking ribs and organs. The backhand that followed lifted the broken body of the Gnoblar up, flying into the upper branches of a small pine tree.
“Never,” screamed Hagar, “Steal my mammoth!” Roaring this he charged at the more evenly matched adversary, Raphael, club held over his head. Bringing it down in a mighty swing, it connected solidly with the tree that Raphael was using for a club. But this was a hard spear-butt, seasoned with age, combat and a dash of pepper. The tree broke in two in the blue Ogre's hands, and he stared at the stump he now held. Not having much time to stare, however, he found himself backing away again quickly as Hagar pressed forward, swinging the spear wildly. A swipe aimed at Raphael's head followed by a backhand at the knee, all missing by the barest of margins. Raphael hoped Hagar's fury would tire him, and then the counteroffensive could begin. Too late, Raphael realized that he had been backed into a tree, and he had to meet one of Hagar's attacks in a parry that pitted muscle and fury against muscle and desperation. Fury won out, and Hagar pressed in close so his enemy. He threw his club aside, and launched a fist into the side of Raphael's head.
His head clearing, Raphael took stock of his situation. He had been disarmed and punched by his opponent who still had a look of madness in his eyes, but no longer seemed the reckless demon who had just assaulted the loincloth clad Ogre. One look into those eyes, seeing the fire of rage that burned there, quelled Raphael's desire to fight. But that same fire showed the Ogre that there would be no escape. And so he fell.
Hagar saw the Ogre drop to his knees and wondered if he had hit Raphael too hard. But the Ogre spoke again, and Hagar heard words he had never expected.
“Please don't kill me, please I beg you, I'll do anything.” Raphael's pained cries sounded pitiful, even to the ears of another Ogre. But Hagar was in no mood for pity. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the side of Raphael's head, and the Ogre fell again to the ground. When he picked himself up, however, there was a fire in the eyes of the blue Ogre too, determination not to be beaten, not to give in (again). He advanced somewhat groggily, but swiftly his head cleared and he circled Hagar slowly.
Now Hagar realized his folly. In giving his opponent a second chance, he had awakened a sleeping demon. The demon awoken was almost a foot taller than Hagar, and the hunter could not have circled the blue Ogre's biceps with his own massive hands. The first few blows were testing, trying to find out how fit the other was. But soon, with a howl, Hagar launched another offensive, rocketing a fist towards Raphael's head. The other Ogre picked it off easily, and returned a blow to where Hagar had been. But the hunter had followed his first blow through with a dive, his shoulder hitting Raphael's chin, knocking the other down. Hagar was up first, and a blow from his shoe helped Raphael on his way back to his feet. But the blue Ogre wasn't done, and he bit the foot that kicked him, losing teeth but hurting the hunter. A few shakes and Hagar's foot came loose, but he was off balance and was unable to defend against the flurry of blows Raphael rained down on him. Backing away, accepting some blows and dodging others, Hagar looked for something to defend himself with. He ducked a vicious blow from his adversary, and the fist of the Ogre cannoned into a tree. The tree shook, and something fell out. Hagar grabbed this something, and swung at Raphael's head again. Unprepared, Raphael was hit. Hagar swung twice more, and he knew his opponent was in trouble. Dropping his new weapon, he scrabbled around for his trusty club. Raphael, still dazed, barely saw the short, stout piece of wood before he was hit by if. Hagar swung again, then twice more, and Raphael's body stopped struggling. Out of breath, Hagar dropped to his knees, and saw the object he had used to beat Raphael, the thing that fell from the tree. He saw the body of his onetime companion, Groinbiter, now disfigured and broken into shapes no body was meant to be. Incredibly, there was some small vestige of life left in the little body.
“Why?” Hagar asked the diminutive creature for the last time. The Gnoblar gnashed his teeth, and said one word.
“Because.” Then all was quiet.

Hagar trudged slowly up the mountain path. Loose rocks crunched underfoot, as did small furry mammals not fast enough to get out of the way. While the rocky outcrops he was now traversing provided an excellent view of the dense green forest he had just left, Hagar's mind was not on the picturesque scenery. He had, for the first time in his life, been betrayed. His Gnoblar companion turning on him like that, it was not a happy thought for the Ogre. If his natural charm and wit were not enough to keep even a Gnoblar loyal, how would he manage to reclaim his place in Ogre society? As he pondered this question, his hunter's eighth sense could feel eyes watching him. But too preoccupied with his predicament, Hagar abandoned the sense. Now senseless, he was shocked when he heard the voice.
“Maagaah is watching you!” The voice was faint, distant, but Hagar knew that it meant intelligent, or semi-intelligent beings in the vicinity. Believing it to be the latter, as Ogres have more experience with semi or near intelligence than they do with the real thing, Hagar headed towards the noise. The ridge he was on now sloped away on all sides except for forwards, and that was where the voice was coming from. Readying his club, Hagar made for the faint outline of a cave that he could see in the slope. Obscured by shrubs, the cave was only visible to the eye trained to pick out good hiding places. This usually preceded crawling into said hiding space and cowering for a time, but Hagar was in no mood for cowardice. He heard the voice again, louder this time.
“Maagaah is watching you!”
There were tracks running into and out of the cave, cloven hooves pf varying sizes. Hagar presumed that this meant that the occupants of the cave herded mountain goats or a similar animal. Sneaking as only an Ogre can, shaking the ground only slightly, Hagar slunk to the mouth of the cave, and listened. He heard the very thing he had been expecting, the voice, louder again.
“Maagaah is watching you!”
Jumping through the shrubs, landing in the cave, Hagar waved his club furiously. His eyes had not yet adjusted properly, however, and as he moved forward at speed, his head connected with a partially formed stalagmite, pole axing him. Groggily shaking his head, Hagar looked up from the ground into a very angry face.
“Just what did you mean to do, charging in here?” A small, shrunken man clutching a cane was perched on Hagar's chest. There was a crazed gleam in the man's eye, and the cane waved about with every word he spoke. Hagar was worried that somebody's eye would get put out.
“Was that you, saying that Maagaah was watching me?”
“Yes, that was me. My name's Anthony.”
“Well, if your name's Anthony, why did you say that Maagaah is watching me?”
“Because Maagaah is a minotaur, and he's watching you!”

*****

The old man, it turned out, was a hermit who had walked these mountains for years. Maagaah, it turned out, was the son of the leader of his tribe. Minotaur rites of passage being somewhat less violent than the Ogre equivalent, Maagaah had to kill a mammoth with his bare hands, bringing the skull back to the tribe as proof. The hermit had befriended the Minotaur, and was leading him to the nest of the flying mammoths.
“Why not kill a normal mammoth?” queried Hagar.
“Well,” replied Maagaah, “The bigger the mammoth, the more honour, see?”
“And flying mammoth's are big?”
“Huge.”
“And you intend to kill one with your bare hands?”
“Yes. We're going to dig a pit, a really big pit, and then the mammoth will fall into the pit, and I can go and kill it.” Hagar saw just one tiny flaw in the enthusiastic young Minotaur's plan, and it nearly hurt him to expose the problem.
“It's a flying mammoth, it can fly out of the pit you dig.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, here's what we'll do…” As Hagar explained his plan to the Minotaur, he could see that the poor creature didn't understand the plan, but was too proud to say so. This suited Hagar fine, as the Ogre's own plan was slightly different to the one that he was laying out now. Less than a day's walk away was the nest, and Hagar would soon be back with his people, where he belonged. But first, he had to fool both the hermit and the Minotaur. But subtle as he wasn't, Hagar's mind was sharp as a spoon compared to the rolling pin of intellect that was Maagaah. And so the next morning, when they set out, hermit was slightly mad, the Minotaur slightly confused, and Hagar slightly confident that all was falling into place. Not falling quickly or smoothly, but he could clear up the bits that weren't quite right before anyone noticed.

The sun crested the mountaintop, bathing the slopes in a golden glow. A light dew sparkled in the morning light, and Hagar could smell the rain that had come down the night before. A light breeze blew from the south, warming the air slightly, and the few bushes able to gain purchase on the rocky slopes shook slightly, cascades of golden droplets reflecting faint rainbows. Leaving the cave, the first thing Hagar tripped over was one of these bushes, crushing it beneath his bulk. The snickers of Minotaur and man behind him spurring him on, Hagar uprooted the bush, stuffing it into his mouth hungrily. It had been a full day since his last breakfast, and he was famished.
Realizing that he had a big day ahead, of him, and looking for more substantial food, the hunter pulled some meat out of his pack, chewing it slowly. Some of the unfortunate creatures clothes got caught in Hagar's teeth, and he pulled it out of his mouth, throwing it to the ground. Groinbiter's jacket, in tatters now, lay on the ground, covered in blood, saliva and dirt. Hagar swallowed the remnants of his onetime friend, and grimaced. Trust a traitor to taste terrible.
A poke in the rear end from the old man's cane got Hagar moving again, out of the cave mouth which he had been blocking. The pair scurried out into the morning light, and breathed the fresh mountain air, and the less fresh Ogre air as Hagar spoke.
“Come on, let's get going. We haven't got all day.”
“Well actually,” said Anthony, “We do. It's not far to the mammoth cave. But how your going to kill or capture one by yourselves, I don't know.”
“There's three of us though.” Said Maagaah.
“You think I'm going into a cave of angry mammoth? Not likely!” the old man exclaimed, and shook his cane at the two larger creatures. “You two can work together, if you want, but I'm not going to help you.”
“Okay,” Hagar was grinning as slyly as an Ogre can grin. This wasn't very sly, but a Minotaur is not the best of creatures at reading an Ogre's facial expressions. Slightly better at it than a troll, but not much. The Ogre went on, “So we can carry out the plan still, but I'll have to do the work of two people.” Little did the Minotaur know, but Hagar's real plan, and the one he had told the Minotaur, were different plans.

*****

Night had fallen, and preparations had been completed. Maagaah wore a harness, a large loop of rope sticking up from his back, while Hagar carried a long pole. A few tests had ascertained that the hunter could lift the weight of the Minotaur easily, and the pole would also bear the beast. Finding a wrecked airship was fortunate enough, but given the sheer number of crazy inventions humans were working on these days, it was quite likely that something had crashed near this mountain. Now, Ogre and Minotaur approached the mouth of the mammoth's cave, and looked at each other.
“After you.” Good manners, not always possessed by a Minotaur, came out in times of need.
“No, I insist.” Hagar's insistence carried more weight than Maagaah's, because Hagar carried a pole and Maagaah didn't. So, the cloven-hoofed beast in the lead, they proceeded slowly. The cave had the smell of old bones and wet fur, a smell Hagar knew well from his days in the Ogre Stronghold. Unable to see at first, as their eyesight adjusted, Minotaur and Ogre were both impressed by the sheer size of the cave they had entered. The cavern stretched as far as their impaired vision would allow them to see, and Hagar again whispered the main thread of the plan into Maagaah's ear.
“Remember, we capture it, I take it to show my tyrant, and then you can take it home to kill it.”
“Yes.” The Minotaur's whisper was almost as quiet as Hagar's, and so the hunter's ears took only a few seconds to regain the power of hearing. The noise carried to the end of the cave, and a small mound shifted. The mound, they realized, was a flying mammoth. His heart in his mouth, Hagar approached the sleeping beast. Swallowing, the heart tasting better than his earlier meal of bush and Gnoblar, the hunter ushered his Minotaur accomplice into place. Standing between the two mighty tusks of the beast, the Minotaur attempted to give the Ogre a thumbs-up signal. Unfortunately, not having opposable thumbs, the attempt turned into a bellowed cry of “Ready!”
The sleeping mammoth started, and roused. Quickly, Hagar sprang onto the creature's back, grabbing at the matted fur until he sat astride it's giant back. The mammoth was now well and truly awake, and looked around to see who dared wake it from its slumber. Spying the Minotaur, the mammoth reared. But, before it could bring its considerable bulk down on top of the unlucky Minotaur, Hagar thrust the pole into the loop of rope on Maagaah's harness. Lifting up, the Minotaur now dangled in front of the enraged beast's face. Like a donkey towards a carrot, or away from a loud noise, the mammoth charged forwards. A shift in placement of the pole caused the mammoth to veer off towards where its perceived tormentor, the unlucky Minotaur, now hung. Guiding the beast out of the cave and onto the open mountaintop, Hagar bellowed with joy, to be at last on his way home. Maagaah bellowed with fear, to be dropped by Hagar would mean certain death for the Minotaur. The mammoth bellowed with laughter. The Ogre sitting on its back tickled, and not having arms meant that the poor creature couldn't scratch its own back.

Hagar, arms tiring, shifted the pole slightly. The Minotaur at the end rose by a few inches, and the mammoth's trajectory changed to follow it. Flexing its mighty wings, the mammoth's back suddenly started heaving, as the great creature picked up speed. Hagar moved forward, onto more stable back, and suddenly realized that the mammoth was no longer running along the ground. To the hunter's astonishment, the monster had managed to lift its impressive bulk entirely off the ground. Gaining altitude swiftly, Hagar could make out the path of the Road beneath them, and he aimed the mammoth to follow the Road. Their speed increased, and again, Hagar laughed.

*****

The moon had moved in the sky, and the sun was just beginning to show its first rays on the horizon. Below him, Hagar could see the settlement he had been banished from. Turning the mammoth slightly, he aimed at the Road, looking for a long straight clear section to land on. Finding this, with typical Ogre accuracy, he overshot by some two miles, the mammoth clearing its own path through trees and crashing to a halt only a couple of miles away from the end of Hagar's journey.
“Aaaaahhhh!” came a moan from just ahead of Hagar. Looking forward, he saw his Minotaur victim, or companion, holding onto one of the mammoth's tusks. The mammoth saw him too, and began to run in circles, chasing its own tusk. At length, Hagar managed to convince Maagaah to release his hold, and the brute again dangled from the pole in Hagar's hands. Now, Hagar led his strange entourage back onto the Road, cobblestones and Gnoblars cracking under the mammoth's feet. The swarms of small greenskins hurriedly placing stones on the Road was a sign of Ogres, but this behavior was incomprehensible, even in an area governed by Genghis the Witless. There seemed to be an endless stream of the creatures. They ran around the corner, carrying stones almost as large as they themselves were, and placed them on the road ahead of the previous stones. Where all this rock had come from, Hagar had no idea. But his eighth sense again saved Hagar from total embarrassment, and he had time to whirl around on the mammoth's back, to look straight down the barrels of two pairs of handguns leveled in his direction. Then, his fifth sense told him to look around again, and, coming down the road, the source of the Gnoblars became apparent. The hugest, fattest Ogre Hagar had ever seen seemed to glide down the road. On closer inspection, the Ogre was actually carried by hundreds of Gnoblars, all straining under his massive bulk. Legends of Greasus Goldtooth had spread even to this remote part of the Mountains of Mourn, and Hagar groaned inwardly. Outwards, he cursed, spluttering words only known to the foulest of foul creatures, and taught to Ogre children almost as soon as they could talk.
“Ah, this must be the one.” Greasus' voice rumbled, like thunder, the deepest voice Hagar could remember hearing. “You're the Ogre who killed Raphael?”
“Yes.” Squeaked Hagar, in a high pitched bass. “He tried to kill me first.”
“Raphael,” continued Greasus, “Was in my employ. He was going to find me a flying mammoth, for the mid-week feast.”
“I know.” Hagar realized what was likely to happen. He'd been trying to avoid this moment all of his life, and had succeeded this far.
“You knowingly killed an Ogre of the Goldtooth tribe?” Not much, it seemed, could surprise Greasus, but this admission did.
“I knew he had a master, I didn't realize that it was you.”
“Well, one can hardly expect more than ignorance from an mere hunter. You seem to have a flying mammoth in your possession. In return for your life, I will take the beast there.”
“His name is Maagaah, you're welcome to him.”
“And for your insolent tone, I'll take your mammoth as well. This works for everyone. I get a mammoth, you get to live.”
“Damn.” Hagar watched, openmouthed, as he was thrown off the mammoth, and several of the Over-Tyrant's retainers threw ropes over the great creatures head and wings. Still with mouth agape, the hunter saw the swarm of Gnoblars run off, carrying their lord, with the various Ogres Goldtooth kept with him also departing, back the way they came. Picking himself up, Hagar spat the dirt and Gnoblar out of his mouth. Grabbing the Gnoblar, all that remained of his near-successful quest, Hagar boldly strode up the road towards his old home.”

“And that's why I don't have a flying mammoth for you, Ghengis.”
“But you did have one, till it got taken from you?”
“Yes.” At this, Ghengis smiled his wicked smile again, laughed his wicked laugh, and hit his wicked Gnoblar. His next words drained the warmth from Hagar's bones, the hope from his heart.
“Well then, you can run off and get another one for me, can't you, Hagar?”

And so was Hagar, formerly the Head Hunter of the Gaki-Mols of the Western Pass, given another quest. To bring another Flying Mammoth back to Genghis the Witless. Despite the absurdity of this quest, Hagar knew his only option was success or exile. His only two options were success or exile or death. His only three options…