When he first heard that Westfall was under attack, Bartolomei was tempted to go back to bed.  The People's Militia were the whiniest peasants he'd ever met, constantly moaning that Stormwind had abandoned them.  Their leader, Gryan Stoutmantle, was a lying knave who blamed the Defias problem on the House of Nobles.  On people like his own father, Lord Ranulf Wishock, who selflessly devoted years of his life to rebuilding Stormwind.  That churl didn't deserve assistance -- he deserved to be whipped for slander.

Now there was a troll in Westfall, a traveler at the inn said.  Killing the People's Militia.

Bartolomei sighed.  The sun barely peeked over the horizon, and the smell of bacon and fried ham wafted up out of the kitchen.  Why should he abandon his breakfast to go rescue ingrates and anarchists?

Because Gryan Stoutmantle's failings won't excuse yours, his conscience reminded him.  You're a paladin and a noble.  It's your duty to defend them, whether they deserve it or not.

Sighing once more, he grabbed Blight and headed for the door.

*****************

Carnage greeted him as the griffon circled down around Sentinel Hill.  Corpses littered the tower's steps.  In their midst lay Stoutmantle himself, face down in a pool of blood.  The source of the destruction wasn't hard to spot, either.

She was indeed a troll, as the report said.  Lithe and graceful, a mane of brilliant red hair cascading down her back.  Three young adventurers rushed her and she cut them down without pause, laughing and dancing over their bodies.  The moment the griffon touched ground, Bartolomei was charging, Blight in hand.  The assassin spotted him at once and scampered out to meet him.

He knew he'd made a lethal mistake as soon as they collided.  She was damned good, one of the most seasoned rogues he'd ever seen.  She dodged his spear easily and launched herself into the air, twirling.  Out of the corner of his eye Bartolomei caught the glint of sunlight on steel.  Instinct made him flinch -- and thus her blade laid open his cheek instead of his throat.  He spun to meet her next attack but his heavy armor slowed him.  The assassin was already gone, skipping out of reach.

She circled him, grinning with delight.  Bright green eyes marked every gap, every joint in his plate mail.  Time and again she darted in, quick as a hummingbird, slashing.  Soon he was staggering, weakened by a dozen nicks and cuts.  On her next pass the troll feinted with her dagger, then whirled and slammed the hilt of her second blade into his temple.  The paladin's knees turned to water, and he dropped.

As the world dimmed around him, his last shred of conscious thought was baffled despair.  This is how it ends?  No heroics?  No great deed?  Just gutted by a troll in Westfall?

The troll pounced, landing beside him with a cat's grace.  She studied his face, her emerald eyes drinking the emotions that played across it like a fine wine.  Then she bent down and kissed him, very gently on the nose, as the darkness dragged him under.

*****************

He opened his eyes to the light.  Sunlight, that is.  Not the True Light.

To his shock, Bartolomei realized he was still alive.  He was weak from blood-loss, but after a couple prayers he could stagger to his feet.  Around him, things looked eerily normal.  There were new militia up at the tower and people scurrying about.  Where was the troll, though?  Why had she let him live?  Weaving unsteadily, the paladin wandered up onto a nearby rise to look for her.  

The plains of Westfall spread out below him, dry and fallow.  Buzzards soared in the warm thermals, boars rooted through the abandoned fields searching for forgotten crops.  But he saw no sign of the assassin.

Until she materialized at his elbow.  Trilling cheerfully, with two bloody daggers in her hands.

This time it wasn't even a fight.  She'd caught him flat-footed, his wits still addled from their last encounter.  Once more he dropped.  Once more she knelt and kissed him on the nose -- and left.

*********************

Three kisses later, Bartolomei staggered up the steps of Sentinel Hill to find Gryan Stoutmantle giving orders to one of his recruits.  "You're alive," he croaked.

"Aye.  An acolyte managed to resurrect the people that assassin killed."  The old paladin grimaced in sympathy and tossed the younger knight a rag.  "You may want to scrub some of those grass stains off your face, son.  You're turning as green as our troll."

"My thhh..."  A sap slammed into Bartolomei's head and set the world spinning crazily.  The assassin kissed him on the back of the neck and then vanished before Gryan and his men could so much as twitch.  "Damn her," the paladin gasped when he could talk again.  "This is pointless.  I'm not doing any good out here."

"Well, all of us are alive again.  Or doesn't that count?"

"I didn't mean... of course that counts.  But I can't beat her.  She's just toying with me.  I..."  A faint whisper of air was the only warning he got as her sap smacked him again.  At once, the troll vaulted over the bannister and vanished in the puckerbrush.  Bartolomei tottered over to the edge of the stairs and screamed after her.  "Light blast you, you stinking Horde!  When I get a hold of you I'm going to..."  

The assassin broke into furious applause at his outburst.   "Mmmmmwwwaaa!" she shrieked back.

"Easy there," Gryan laid a steady hand on his shoulder.  "She's just trying to anger you.  Get you to do something stupid."

"No, she's not!  I don't need to do anything stupid -- she can kill me any time she wants.  This isn't a trick.  It's... it's..."

"Troll foreplay?" one of the militiamen suggested helpfully.

"Can the chatter, soldier," Stoutmantle growled, as Bartolomei's knuckles whitened around Blight's shaft.  "Now listen, Sir Knight.  I know how frustrating this must be.  But take a look around.  Since you arrived, she hasn't killed any of our militia -- or even that useless Defias traitor down there.  She hasn't assaulted the young adventurers.  She hasn't interfered with our attempts to resurrect the fallen.  She hasn't done anything in fact except, well, humiliate you."

There was sense in the old man's words, though they galled the paladin.  "So you're saying I should go out there and... and entertain her?"

"Yes.  Until reinforcements arrive."

Bartolomei glanced up into the clear, griffon-less skies.  "I don't think any reinforcements are coming."

"Welcome to Westfall, young man."  

"Don't..."  Another whack, another kiss on the nape of his neck, and the world went into spin cycle again.

*********************

A dwarf trotted up Sentinel Hill with a bear cub in tow.  Behind him rode an elf, mounted on a great white tiger.  Bartolomei's spirits rose slightly at the sight of the cat.  The dwarf was too green to be much help, but perhaps together he and the elf stood a chance.  " 'Ey lad," the dwarf said.  "That troll still about?"  The paladin nodded gingerly, careful not to set off an attack of vertigo.  "Where she be?"

"I have no idea.  She just smacked me, however, so she must be nearby."

The dwarf gave a raucous cackle.  "Aye that!  I been noticing all the attention she's givin' ya.  I think she be sweet on ya.  That's Horde women.  They see some pretty blonde boy in plate mail, and they just can't hold themselves back."

"Light avert!" Bartolomei yelped, horror flashing across his face.  He bit his thumb to ward off evil, too, just for good measure.

That set the dwarf laughing even harder.  "Eh, yer a funny... 'EY!  Heads up, lad!  'Ere comes yer girlfriend!"

Mounted on a great lizard, the troll came barreling through the midst of the defenders and charged on without pause.  As the three of them sprinted after her, the elf's cat quickly pulled far ahead.  Bartolomei cursed and gulped a swiftness potion, opening a wide distance between himself and the stumpy-legged dwarf.  Both elf and troll disappeared over a ridge ahead of him.  And a moment later the clang of sword-play rang out.

He ran as fast as he could -- but it wasn't fast enough.  Bartolomei came scrambling over the rise just in time to see the elf drop at the assassin's feet.  He skidded to a halt.  She warbled a greeting and skipped up the hill to meet him.

"Ah, hell..." the paladin whimpered.  The troll licked her lips.

*********************

Four kisses passed.  That was how he measured time now:  in kisses, not minutes.

Bartolomei sat at the foot of Sentinel Hill once more with the mother of all headaches.  His ears rang continually and there was a blurry edge to his vision that no amount of prayer seemed to fix.

The elf came padding up on his tiger.  "I can find no sign of our foe," he said.  "Perhaps she has finally chosen to abandon the assault."

The faintest glimmer of hope flickered to life in the paladin's heart.  "You know, I haven't been kissed or kicked in the head for about five minutes now.  Maybe she really has..."

"Incoming girlfriend!" the dwarf bellowed.

With a despairing snarl, Bartolomei staggered to his feet as the assassin rode into their midst once again.  But this time some invisible force stayed his hand.  "Whuh...?  Dammit! She let the Truce re-establish itself!"  Safe under the mystical blessing, the troll hopped off her lizard.  And there was nothing Bartolomei could do except quiver in impotent fury.  (Which, he had to admit in the secret corners of his heart, was probably a good thing.  If he could attack her, he'd just get himself slapped down again.)

The troll gazed at each of the defenders in turn, grinning wickedly.  Then she threw her hands into the air and began to dance.  She swayed with a supple grace, hips writhing slowly to some silent melody.  The day's battle had dewed her skin with sweat and her clothes clung tightly to her body, accenting every curve of her slender form.  Her tusks were surprisingly small, nothing like the great fangs of a male troll.  Just two tiny pearls, gleaming white against her full lips.

Bartolomei gulped.  "I... I've never seen a troll dance before.  It's... weird."

The dwarf roared with laughter.  "That ain't 'weird', lad.  That's sexy!  Damned sexy!  You ask me, troll-girls dance as good as night-elves."

How could someone be so repulsive and yet so... so...?  The paladin's scrambled brain couldn't find a word to finish that sentence.  Not one he was willing to apply to a member of the Horde, anyways.

Each gliding step brought her closer.  Bartolomei stared, blinking, until her hips brushed against him.  Then he shied away violently, cheeks blazing a deep crimson.  The troll took one look at the expression on his face and burst into laughter.  She was joined by the damned dwarf (who was starting to remind Bartolomei of Preacher at his worst).  Still chuckling, the assassin pulled a hearthstone out of her pocket.  Green lights played about her, and then she was gone.

Around them, life slowly returned to normal.  The elf leaped onto his cat's back and nodded to Bartolomei.  "Do you seek some further adventure, honored knight?  I would be pleased to have you accompany me."

"No," he replied, almost too softly to hear.  "I'm going home to Stormwind to take a bath."

"Good cold one, eh lad?"  The dwarf gave him a jovial slap on the back.  Not trusting his voice, Bartolomei fled for the griffons.

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