His first encounter as a member of a wondering murdering horde was like most, sick over board before breakfast, seaweed and sand in yar boots and knackered before managing finish the run up the chine screaming blue murder in an unintelligible tongue, spit in ya beard and scarring the wits out of some very poor hapless land loving wimp who just wanted to dig furrows in the wet clod and merrily scatter seeds only to manage slipping over in his own soiledge whilst lamely attempting to flee.

Weeks screamed into months, squelches and slashes dripped into years and the once deft steel tip became rounded and hanging rather like his sated hairy belly. Yo ho ho, a proud witness to his triumphs over leg of pork, horn of mead, whole sheep head and dragging deer plumbs home for lunch.

Upon one such lunchtime late in the 1st millennia's turning that an argument broke out upon the forest road with a travelling conjurer over the colour of his man-outfit. One offence to far thus brought his demise and a lesson in keeping the cake hole shut (and sober) should be learnt for fear of causing yet another foreseen offence.

Spiked him good the conjurer did and messy it was, bowels an all!

Nothing grows in that part of the New Forest anymore, nothing i tells yar.