[Mithadan]

Gravlox looked from Vogonwë to Pimpiowyn. Now this is a strange turn of events,he thought. Then he glanced over to Merisu who looked worried and upset. She shook her head vigorously in answer to his unasked question.

Gravlox looked back to the wild-eyed Elf and smiled in an attempt to calm him. But, if anything, the sight of the Uruk's fangs only made him more frenzied. Putting on his best face (such as it was) and using his fanciest language, Gravlox addressed the Elf.

"Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Put not another sin upon my head,
By urging me to fury: O, be gone!"

Vogonwë blinked and shook his finely coiffed head. "Uh, what?"

Gravlox tried again. "What you have charged me with, that have I done;
And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
I do forgive thee."

One could almost hear the gears turning as Vogonwë puzzled over the Orc's words. Then a lighbulb appeared metaphorically over the Elf's head. He took a deep breath and mustered every bit of his verbose abilities. "Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me (and to the fair Pimpiowyn); therefore turn and fight."

"'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes,
Between the pass and fell incensed points,
Of mighty opposites," commented Gravlox casually. Then he fell silent, for the words of his father came back to him: "Brush and floss after each meal."

Gravlox shook his head and refiled that quote for future reference. Then the correct quote came to him: "We can't be redeemed, not completely. Not in this life. Not when we begin so evil and do so many foul deeds. Too much to make up for. Too many debts to pay."

He looked at Pimpiowyn who stood chewing her lip (for she had nothing else to chew on at the moment). As he looked upon the half-Halfling, he thought back to the fateful day which had started all this trouble. He remembered a picnic laid out on a grassy knoll. Heaps and heaps of food were piled atop a red checkered blanket. But the scene changed and a multitude of his Orcs rushed about, growling and roaring and shaking various sharp and unpleasant looking implements of war. They trampled over the picnic chasing a man, a hobbit, and a toddler.

Rivers of blood, pools of blood, cascading waterfalls of blood, gurgling drinking fountains of blood, filled the image in his mind. He recalled slaying her father, killing her mother, lopping the head off of her father’s horse, chasing her with murder in his bloodshot eyes.

“I’m gonna put a maggot hole in your belly!” he had cried. Then an Elf came up from behind, wielding a shovel, ready to strike. He tripped on his shoes and came down upon the Orc’s foot. Foot and Orc separated.

He recalled the aftermath also. His return to Gol Dulldor and his wife and young children and the growing horror at what he had done. And as time had passed, he had become increasingly reluctant to commit mayhem and murder, orders notwithstanding, until, at last, he had stopped altogether...

"I owe her a great debt, one that I cannot repay," he thought sadly. "This is what my father meant. Perhaps if I fight this little twerp and let him live, some portion of that debt will be paid..."

He turned to Vogonwë and gave his answer. "You want a duel? OK. How about hand to hand? No weapons?"