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"Oops." Krazen looks up to see Stefan, still on the log...still deep in thought. Krazen turns back to the pile of logs. The now, burning, towering inferno of wood that looms over the treetops about Krazen. Stuffing his axe into his bag, and turning back to Stefan he opens his mouth to yell. Before he can, however- "A little warm isn't it Krazen?" Stefan snaps out of his reverie, then cranes his neck to take in the sooty and sweaty orc. His eyes follow the towering pillar of smoke... "Krazen! Look what you've done!"

The orc grins sheepishly, then jumps back as a tree beside him bursts into flame. Then another. Then another. "Uh oh. Er...it wasn't meh." Krazen wipes his hands on his already dirty robe. "Hur," he adds thoughtfully. "Uh oh," he repeats. Krazen turns and runs, and the flames twist and scatter about him, burning the paths, blocking the way. Stefan is lost amongst the smoke and embers, and Krazen crashes to the ground. "STEFAN!" he yells. He strains his ears, and over the crackling and popping of living trees smouldering and peeling, he hears coughing. A silhouette in the fumes resolves into human form...Stefan bent over double, making his way to the river. Krazen rises to his feet, and tips his metal hat forward. "It's okeh! Meh put out da fire!"

Grabbing a freshly cut log, Krazen proceeds to beat at the burning wall around him. When that catches fire, he drops it to the ground and beings blowing on the flames. Krazen grimaces as a flash of heat blasts back into his face, and he rubs the burnt debris from his eyes. Feeling a fierce grip on his arm, he is yanked through a safe gap. Stefan, with a cloth over his face, pulls Krazen, coughing and spluttering to the river, where both collapse on the bank.

THE FOOL AND THE FIRE
A fool and a bag in a belt of scrub,
Cloudless skies and the still hot days,
And the countryside's in a mad hubbub;
Terror is here and the world's ablaze.
Five thousand sheep went West today,
Bell's home at the crossing and Casey's pub;
And the cause of it all is a world away;
A fool with a bag who passed the scrub.

An oaf with a match in a mile of grass,
Where yesterday the skies shone clear;
But fury leapt where he came to pass;
And now, ten miles away, comes fear.
Men toil and sweat in the reeking smoke
That curling drifts to a sky of brass.
And now black ruin and homeless folk
Are toll to an oaf in a mile of grass.

If the fool be caught can the fool repay?
What is to do but build again,
And hope for the dawn of a better day,
When folly is shorn from the ways of men;
What is to do but hope and pray.
While the scars heal slow in a blackened land,
That the fool shall no more pass this way
With the seeds of terror in his hand.

((This is a roleplaying thread. Please do not spam with poems you did not even write.))

A short while later, Krazen awakes to see the smoke from Troll's Bane. Wiping the mud from his face, and crawling from the orc-shaped imprint on the river bank...he dusts himself down, and examines the scarring from the wildfire. Krazen looks between the scrub and the fire in Troll's Bane, and puts two and two together...and comes up with 5.

"AAAAAAARGH!" he screams. "Krazen done it again!" Looking furiously around, he spots Stefan still resting by the scream. "Dey gonna be angry wiv Krazen," he whispers to himself. "Dey gonna lock him up...or kill him! It was an accident!" Krazen stands on the spot for a few minutes, murmuring to himself. With deepening thought, and a furrowing brow, the confused orc comes to a solution. Without waking Stefan, he draws his swords and runs off, toward the Mountains. "Meh comin' bruvvers! Keep da gate open fer Krazen!"