Lynch’s Journal #137
I patiently wait for Tuskgutter as he marches forward. The brute has made it painfully obvious it is far stronger than any of us so I will have to rely on my agility when he strikes. There is no technique in the overhead chop of his shortsword, allowing me to quick step to the side and rapidly stab Prayers into the ribcage.
The radiant energy sends jolts of agony into his body but the abomination fights through the pain. With frightening speed, he slams me back down into the snow with a clubbing blow. Before I can even get to my knees, Tuskgutter is on me with his blade raised high for the killing blow.
As he swings I cannot help but feel this is the end. This thing is too strong, too fast, impossible to kill. It is almost as if it was designed to destroy us.
And I instantly feel guilty about such thoughts as Amon intercepts the attack with his shield. With all his strength Tuskgutter bears down, driving Prince Frost to his knees. The look on his face says he is not going to hold on for much longer.
I quickly get up to help him but Lithia beats me to it. Her bolt of fire stikes the burlap sack over the brute’s face with enough force to stagger it. Taking advantage of the sneak attack, her husband pushes Tuskgutter away with his shield. As it staggers backwards, Amon takes a defensive position as I move to his left.
Catching its balance, the anger in its eyes still focuses on me. With each heave of a deep breath hatred builds within Tuskgutter but not a word is spoken. He means to kill me first.
His one step forward his halted as a large blade cuts down in front of him, cleanly cutting off the hand gripping the shortsword. Before it can register Balasar’s next attack, the paladin buries his greatsword into Tuskgutter’s side. Roaring in defiance, the copperborn pushes the weapon through to the spine.
And again, within wisps of fog, Tuskgutter vanishes.
But I know his trick this time.
I yell for the prince to move to his right and for his wife incinerate the area with fireball. Knowing he will teleport behind me, I go into a forward roll to avoid any damage from Lithia’s spell.
It is the perfect trap.
Rolling up to my feet I find Tuskgutter materializing directly in front of me, his hand reaching out for my throat.
Squeezing the life out of me, he lifts my feet out of the snow. Both Thoughts and Prayers drop from my hands as I struggle to break his grip. Already weak from fighting the bastard, I desperately try to breath.
Lithia blasts Tuskgutter in the head with another bolt of fire.
And his grip remains strong.
The abomination’s eyes are wide with hate as it stares at me. I can feel the anger radiating from him. With just the strength of his one hand my head feels like it is going to burst.
Amon summons an orb of corrosive acid, burning it between Tuskgutter’s shoulders.
And his grip still remains strong.
The burlap sack over its head becomes lost in the blur of white and red. I can feel my body becoming as cold as the snow around us.
Then all of a sudden his grip loosens and I can breath again. The brute tumbles backwards as I hit the ground. The rush of air into my lungs burns like taking a shot at The Last Tavern.
Reaching for Prayers I see the severed arm of Tuskgutter. The fingers still flex as if trying to grab my hand.
Taking up the shortsword, I roar as a leap to take him down. Roaring again, I bury the blade into his forehead. Quickly pulling the sword out, I bury it into his heart with another roar.
Tuskgutter’s body becomes still.
Letting the raging orc blood in my veins take over, I repeatedly stab and roar.
Stab and roar.
Until I pass out.