The Piper was lounging in tavern some distance from the battlefield, surrounded by hearty men and beautiful, young girls. His face was rugged, handsome even, but his eyes were dark, beady, like a raven or a vultures. He wore a dark cloak that covered his thin frame. He played his flutepipe and pointed towards his empty flagon in imperious contempt. One of the girls whisked it away as another replaced it. The piper rarely spoke, choosing instead to work his magic to conjure servants for himself. He smiled to himself, a thin smile of someone who had performed a cruel joke on someone.
"Good riddance." He muttered. "The world is better off with that Rat King out of the way forever." The Piper knew perfectly well that the soldiers had been poorly trained and outnumbered. They might well destroy the enemy, but they'd be destroyed as well. "Good riddance." he muttered again.
Just then the door to the tavern crashed open and the conjured girls and men vanished as the Piper was startled. Standing in the doorway, was Fangtail. The Piper scrambled to his feet hurredly.
"Fangtail," He said, pasting what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face. "You survived then.".