The iron clad imbecile was making the headache worse. Endlessly shouting.
Can you please just shut the F@#&^ up? Jack huffed, holding a hand to his forehead.
First-- there ain't no F#&*( "Greenskins" in there--- he continued, still rubbing his eyebrows. And If'n there was, I woulda known about'it on the way up 'ere. Second-- he lowered his hand and leaned on his stick a little heavier, while turning his bloodshot gaze at the armored nitwit. Nearly your whole plan o'action is based on the F#^$ stupid idea, that there is, which THEY AINT--. What' in dere is sump'n else entirely. Aint never felt the like. Smart, like a man, but single minded in purpose like beast, and all kinda wrong. Ther's one almost came inta town yest'rday. 'Bout stained muh damned shorts.
He looked in at this man people were calling Arvel. He must be some kind of leader of some kind, the way everyone was nagging the poor bastard.
The bit about the wall is good medicine though. If ye control where they try te' come in, ye can repell em better. Set traps in places ye cain't patrol safely, and check from o'r the top o the wall. I can help.
His angry bloodshot eye darted quickly between Arvel, the iron clad moron, the lady in the dress, and then back to Arvel.
The lady got the right idea. Find out about the critters. Know their motives-- why they 'r commin in to gut ya. Aint nothin alive does things for no reason at 'tall. Find out what-- when, and why. Meanwhile, work to ke'p 'em out. Good plan.