At the Lord's call, a crowd of burly men from High Cliff Castle gathered around, as if drawn by some new spectacle.
The biting cold was somehow warmed by this crowd of steaming brutes.
With arms crossed, they all just watched the Kobold on the ground, waiting to see how long it could hold out.
A soldier's life was boring, and with the world now blanketed in a monotonous sheet of white, it was even more so.
Faced with this situation and with nothing better to do, the Lord started a bet on the spot.
Seeing as the group of Barbarians under his command were all paupers without a coin to their names, the stakes were simple: the loser would have to wash the winner's filthy clothes.
"I bet this thing can only hold out for a thousand heartbeats, tops. Any longer than that, and it must be an actual corpse," the Lord mused.
