Morrslieb was full and seemed to smile as Rugluk's warband crept from the trees.
The dwarfs had made themselves comfortable. Some still drank beneath The Owl's sign while others snored beside dying campfires.
Rugluk raised a clenched fist in silence.
Goblins slipped between the wagons while a group of boyz crept toward the sleeping guards. Even the trolls, after repeated threats from Rugluk, managed to stay almost quiet.
Then Rugluk dropped his hand.
"WAAAGH!"
The night exploded.
The dwarfs fought hard but the surprise was complete. Before long the survivors were retreating into the darkness, dragging their wounded with them.
Rugluk climbed onto an overturned ale wagon, looked over the wreckage and bared his teeth in a satisfied grin.
"...Maybe da old ghost knew a fing or two."
Welcome back! I'm in good spirits as I write this post, as I came very close to not finishing anything this month. There was never any fear of dropping out of the challenge, though, since I had already painted a half-orc shaman back in January. Byron shared a picture of the chariot riding Grom he was working on, and it gave me the needed inspiration to paint my version as this season's leader.

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