The marksman sat on a barrel at the bar and demanded a drink. The bartender looked at him quzzically as he poured a ouisge into his mouth. The fluid began to moisten his chin and then after a short while to drip in a steady stream onto the sawdust and hardwood floor. This puppet looked like he had been recently repaired; livid red stitching gleamed bright and new from his face and arms.
"So it was like this," he said.
" We was advancin' on Stonestown, I could hear the lads marchin' up so's i crept round the back of a big statue an' took aim. Saw the vetties spring out of cover an' was just about to squeeze off a shot when there it was.
"Little bugger it were, all eyes, spikes and sparkles, ran outta nowhere an' just stood; swear it were only a foot away! I could see it hitchin' to recover it's breath, so i did what any self respectin' soldier would do an' had at it with the butt of me rifle. I just missed it, an' it suddenly leapt at me like there were no tomorrow.
"Afore I knows whats happenin' it's had my arm an' was hangin' on! I shook, lurched, danced. Struggled, writhed an' finally went down under the gnashin' teeth an' hateful, hateful eyes. Last I remember was it startin' on me face. Blacked out then, I don't mind tellin' you. I ain't goin' out to Thumbria again!"
The bartender poured another ouisge and watched it drip and then run through the soldier's chin to the floor.
"Woke up on the bench. Took three sacks of stuffing an' more stitches than i care to mention, but i'm still here. Just lucky I guess. Asked the RAG what had happened to me an' he looks me up an' down an' says one word.
'Elvspon!'"
"I ain't goin' out to Thumbria again."