Iz be the six ittle poffet. Da Saber sez so, so iz mus be rite. He has dem bookz and da great poffet said so.

Iz gotz da beer what made da great poffet go boomz!! Iz uz iz on dem orcses and dorfses and we gonna get da Karaconch big C!

Da Saber is da one. Da WHOLE WAAAAAAAGH!!!!!! follow da Saber.

And da four wind. Not sure who dat is, but da Saber sez so.

Big Lug troll.

Big Lug eat stuff. Poffet give good drink. Make belly rumble and belch all tingly. Yum.

*Swish* *Thwack* The elven noble went down in a heap. The White Saber had once again defeated the entire caravan one by one, and now there were but six elven bodies laying about. *Thhhck* His saber shot home, and he turned away from the coach to receive the adulation of his audience.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!

A torrid avalanche of goblins shot toward him down the slope!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!

A moon shaped blur of white, as the sun reflected off the paint on every goblins face!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!

In a blink of an eye, nothing was left of the coach, or the valuables on the corpses!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!

The tribe cheered their champion, lifted him high upon their shoulders and flooded back home into the trees. That was a good day. The poffet had been proud.

The Saber thought about all that had transpired. Learning to read - and write. To understand the poems found in elven literature. To appreciate the beauty of long forgotten art in a castle devoted to an ancient vampire lineage. He wasn't like the other goblins. He was.. sophisticated. Elegant. Particular with his blade.

And now, with all out war a suicidal thought if attempted against the Blackspire Clan - or the fresh dwarves lured by Glittergreed, now, he, the Saber, had been called on to lead the White Waaaaagh.

He is..

their Looney.