“Me, Gr’ozz say that Bad Men carry weapons more scarier than bows! Much more scarier!” Gr’ozz rumbled to the centaur chief’s council around the campfire that the war party had lit to frighten off predators at night. “Half-horses in big danger! But Gr’ozz want to help, maybe help drive them off if lucky!”
“How many have you seen, Scaly One?” the chief inquired. The humanoid vocal equipment of the centaurs would not permit them to pronounce Gr’ozz’s name properly, which sounded like a bull elephant trying to trumpet in a quartet with three asthmatic crocodiles.
“Me, Gr’ozz seen many, lots of squads, with big, big weapons, big tanks and guns! Kill many small armies!”
“I have fifty troops with me, Scaly One. With bows we can take out the troops, but any war chariots will be a problem. But you have no ranged weapons, and surely you cannot take them out with just bare hands,” He gestured to Gr’ozz’s left arm, tipped with a mace of sculpted bone grown from his arm, “We MUST arm you with something more your size that can take them on at range. It would be suicide to go head-to- head!”
“Ha! Me, Gr’ozz am good with fists; strong like elephant, wise like zen master, tough like steel. Plus, Gr’ozz use trick on dumb Bad Men that work every time!” “Then we may make it out of this alive, even victorious!” A scout had just entered camp and whispered something in the chief’s ear. The chief nodded and whispering an order to her, turned to the others.
“The enemy has set down for the night. It will not be the most honorable thing we can do, but we move out in an hour for a surprise attack. We need any advantage we can get. Scaly One, you will be with me and on approaching try to disable their war chariots, or ‘tanks’ as you call them!”
“That good! Gr’ozz can do!” “Then we ready within the hour,” the chief addressed all in the camp.“This is our only chance of stopping them, advanced weapons for not. Let’s not waste it!”
To be concluded . . . .