He was of a race of monsters, exiled from mankind by Chaos, and of all the monsters he was the largest, most vicious and carnivorous. It was said he did worse with female victims than devour their flesh and rumours of mutant children, born from the consummation of his dark desires, flourished.
If the rumors be true, then from Motte Flügel sprang all Non-Men who dwell, down to this day, anywheres upon the land of Ordem.
One night, after a particularly rambunctious party, the Norse Once Removed, those born of the orphan's bloodline, settled in the hall for sleep. Sleeping as Christians was a thing never heard of by them, yet their slumber was much the same as it should be. Which is to say it was the sleep of those who know no sorrow, who have put their trust in their King.
Mott Flügel put his trust in his stealth, his hunger, and his brawny strength as he slunk into the mead-hall and snatched up several persons of varied sexes and occupations, then went home, laughing in amusement at the newly awakened ones' shrieks of fear.
When dawn came, Mott Flügel's strength and stealth was learned of, though the fates of his victims remained a mystery. There was great weeping, from King to chambermaid, as the news was learned and relearned of the bloody footprints found, of the shattered pottery, of the noises heard in the hall but mistook for quite other activities than they were now sure happened.
The following night, Motte Flügel killed more of Man. Those who had been previously unsure of whom the culprit was now had no doubt, due to the walls of the mead-hall which bore his mark, where his long and frightening claws had dug in and etched out his name.
The mead-hall was closed in the early Evening after that, and that is why, down to this day, we always close at 6: PM on the dot.” read the sign posted outside The Tavern of the Gilded Hogsnout.
“It seems rather more run down than it should be, dont you think, if it is the great mead-hall that the grandson of my foundling King built?” inquired Chaos.
“Yes, Sire, but perhaps there is another sign with an explanation for that.”
“Perhaps there is another sign with an explanation for why I would care?”
“You were seeking something, Sire, and you believed it to be inside.”
“Don't patronize me, V. I do have a cover charge.”
“As you wish, Sire.”
They stood nearish the tavern door, waiting. Though they were not wating for any person to come out, nor for any person that might be going in. What they waited for was for a breaking point to saunter into a head and alert some nerve endings. The mystery was whose nerve endings it would happen to, first.
Surprising both fellows, Master and Servant, it was neither of theirs as witnessed by the fact that a bar maid came charging out of the door, swinging a tray in various directions, and effectively pummeling them both to the ground before trampling over them and running into the woods.
“I say, V!” grinned Chaos. “This might just be a great mead-hall after all! Let us do go in!”
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