Endgame II
--The last thing Hamako heard before he died was the sound of wood cracking, then silence, followed by darkness.
--Bigbones, the normally stoic, fearsome quarter-ogre was visibly startled when Vorodon rushed forward, beneath the hovering bardiche, shoving the gruesome woman as gently as possible onto the canopied bed and onto her back. He had not considered the weight involved however. As the two behemoths plunged downward, the ancient mahogany cracked, the four, clawed legs gave way, and a near half ton of half-ogre, quarter-ogre, and bed, crashed down two feet.
A muted gasp and then a truly sickening popping sound emerged from beneath the weight.
--Bigbone’s bardiche was still clutched in her outstretched meaty paws, the weapon now stretched across the bed horizontally. Vorodon was now nose to nose with the woman who had nearly killed him a moment earlier with one strike. Her putrid onion breath was strong enough to kill beetles, Vorodon thought, as he looked deeply into her yellowed, porcine eyes. For her part, Bigbones stared back, then made a gurgling, obscene noise, passed gas, and spoke.
“Maybe Mingo can wait”, she uttered in a garish attempt at a whisper. “I nearly killed you. You still bleed like a stuck boar, yet you wish to know me now? Your warm blood is making Bigbones warm too! Come then", she grinned, showing her rotted teeth. "Show me what a Volgottor can do! I can kill you after.” Bigbone’s beefy hand began to grope, feeling for a codde piece.
--Mingo gasped, and his eyes bulged in disbelief as Talia whispered to the Bandit-King’s brother. His hands went instinctively to his stomach in a meek attempt at dislodging the weapon now deep inside him. He murmured something incomprehensible and stared incredulously at his platinum-haired executioner. The fire burning in the gypsy's eyes, scared him more now, than the thought of dying and all the Nine Hells combined!
“You…I—“ Finally his hand went to his sword, a wince of excruciating pain creasing his features. Bleeding profusely, Mingo managed to raise his sword and swing. He is fast, despite it all, Talia thought, but not fast enough. She easily sidestepped the pitiful attack, and the redheaded, pale and mortally wounded Mingo was now hers to do with as she pleased….again.
--Dujek stared at the approaching nightmare and pondered the creature’s “species”. It took him only a few moments. Ghast! It meant this creature could create countless ghouls! This was their leader. Dujek wasn’t sure whether to despise or admire the coming horror. Koschei squirmed inside its master’s cloak.
“Why did you name me after the Deathless One, master? The greatest Lich the world has ever known.”
--Tristan exploded in a holy rage! Aerex had time to fire before turning and staring at the nearly palpitating priest. It was as if the young holy man was taking a life’s worth of frustrations out on the coming Ghast, the hetman of the ancient halfling tribe of Wurmzytter, and now the King of Ghouls.
--Aerex’ arrow was heading straight for the horrifying figure. Instead of striking the creature’s chest and burying itself half a foot into its putrid flesh however, the arrow sailed through the ghast, as if passing through hair, harmlessly vanishing into the rain.
--Foaming at the mouth, veins bulging from beneath his brow, his scar pulsing red and angry, mace held high, Tristan rushed directly at the ugly stain of Unlife, chanting the prayer of the Crimson Order with all his strength and with the greatest and purest, conviction!
--Kadarin cast his spell, the words sounding familiar to Moruz, as he ran past the suddenly potent young mage they had rescued. The creature’s crown shrank from sight, disappearing from view.
--Aerex nearly gasped himself, as he watched the ghast suddenly stop its advance, rear its wrapped, crowned head back, as if it had met some invisible resistance, and shrieked an appalling deathscream, which could only be described as a great, wet, sucking noise. Suddenly in a matter of seconds, the ghast simply came apart in the pouring rain, bandages, robes, scepter, and its actual essence, disappearing from existence, wisps of gray, flying in all directions.
<<<I rolled a Nat. 20 Tristan!! You destroyed the ghast outright in lieu of turning it!!>>>
--Tib saw the light. Then saw a bolt whistling toward his eyes. He felt no pain when the missile pierced head. Tib only felt the warmth of the afternoon air, despite the rain. With bolt firmly implanted in skull, Tib raised his flails and advanced, then stumbled, falling into the muck. By the time Moruz approached the fallen bandit, Tib was dead, still clutching a flail in each outstretched hand. Suddenly Moruz turned toward Vee, as the rogue danced a quick jig, and momentarily whooped and hollered in honor of his own killing shot.
<<<I rolled another Nat. 20!! I kid you not. Dang!! That will never happen again!! Also, Tib was already injured from earlier ghoul’s raid>>>
