There was a small village once that had a particularly large problem.  Not the only problem, but the most pressing in nature.  It seems that through the ravages of war, a mighty and rather large Orc had the misfortune of losing one of his eyes.  Maimed, he was no longer fit to fight for the minions of darkness. It had to prey instead on this poor village. Even with just one eye, his gigantic stone club could easily smite the hapless villagers if they did not furnish him with his every desire.

  He suckled the milk from their cows, forced them to grow grapes for his wines, and even began to take the daughters of the town for his pleasures.  Every one of his basest desires fulfilled by it's little slave village.

  This was the last straw for the village.  He may have been a cyclopean giant with a bad temper and the strength of fifty men, but this Orc could not sully their daughters so.  Something must be done.  If no courage could be found within the village, they would have to look without.

  A messenger was sent under cover of darkness to find a champion for the village to rid them of this scourge.  In a nearby tavern on the road, the messenger came across a rogue, bragging of his exploits.

  "I've never even been hit once by a monster!  Those fools don't know wether they're coming, going or dying after I've finished with them!  I once defeated a two headed Hobgoblin by the might of my wits alone!", bragged the rogue.

  Clearly an ideal champion for this poor village, in the eyes of the messenger.  He told this rogue of the plight of his town. When the rogue heard the Orc had but one eye, he smiled broadly and accepted the quest.  The gold offered him as a reward would be easily obtained.  Fun, even.

  The next time the Orc came to town, he found the townsfolk barred in their houses.  There was but one puny human about.  The rogue stood in the middle of the main street, flipping a Soori in his hand, grinning a cheshire grin.

  "Smorgasbord's closed, ugly.  Be off with you lest you meet your doom!", declared the rogue.

  "Bwahahah!  I like that grin, meat!  I'll have to salvage your teeth from the bloody puddle you're about to become!", boomed the Orc.

  The Orc raised its giant club high and was about to strike.  With lightning speed, the rogue's Soori was flung through the air.  The luck of the rogue behind him, the blade found its target.

  The Orc screamed in pain as the knife penetrated his one eye.  Now blinded, and in a great deal of pain, the orc started to swing his giant stone club about wildly.  Dust was kicked up in a mighty cloud that covered the town. The skilled rogue deftly dodged the blows despite the low visibility and hacked away at the orc's legs.

  "Here we go slashing Orcy legs!  Tra la la lee la la..", sung the rogue as he dodged the club and sliced up the Orc's massive legs with another Soori.  The Orc fell after a lengthy and stylish song and dance.

  The rogue had thoroughly enjoyed his job.  Untouched by the Orc and a kill with flair!  Standing in dramatic pose atop the fallen bully, the rogue looked about for his accolades.  As the dust from the dance began to settle, the rouge saw his audience.  The townsfolk were indeed surrounding the giant corpse, but they did not seem at all happy.  Their pitchforks and torches seemed to suggest displeasure.

  Looking about, as the last of the dust settled from the countless blows of the giant club, the rogue noticed the reason for the villager's ire.   It seems the rogue had been enjoying his dance of death too much, and failed to notice that the buildings of the town had all been reduced to splinters by the flailing of the club.  Rather than accolades and a hefty reward, the rogue found himself running for his life from an angry mob.

  His overconfidence had led to carelessness.  As the rogue fled his pursuers, he had ample time to reflect upon the lesson learned that day:

Play with your prey and you may find reason to pray.