Yet another bit of writing I did a while back for an idea I had for a book. The Characters were to be derived from others I had played or had played with via some form of MMORPG or other. I always had been facinated with creating character backgrounds for games I’ve played that leaves it wide open for that, something I started on with both D&D and Ultima Online. I’ve since re-read this one and realize what a mess it is, and have since abandoned this particular idea, but not the characters.
“Fuck.”
That’s all He managed to say as He watched her falling, her eyes wide, a mixture of shock, pain, and horror spread across her normally beautiful features. Her hair, stark grey and with a streak of white which normally flowed gracefully to her shoulders flew freely behind her. Time slowed down for the companions, who seemed rooted in the moment, not believing that such an attack had come so fast from what they now faced.
He didn’t pay it much mind though, and He reversed his grip on his Adamantine Battle Axe in time to swat away the dragon-thing’s deadly claw, which was less than an inch from his face. Almost instantly, he redoubled his efforts of his swing into a full circle, taking the Draekkon by fatal surprise, as it’s head rolled away from it’s body.
It was dead before Ramana hit the ground.
“NO!” Bashstrong swung again to back up the remaining Orgork before slamming his shield into the monstrous things belly, for it stood no smaller than two times a tall human’s height. The orgork coughed blood, but felt no worse for the attack and let out a slight chuckle. It would have laughed harder, but it had noticed its entrails spilling to the ground beneath its feet. For true to his clan’s namesake, Bashstrong Shieldsmasher’s favorite tactic was not a wild fury with axe swings, but to smash an opponent with a shield, and his was devious indeed. Barbed with hundreds of tiny diamond spikes, one smash and rake could shred an enemy as no blade could.
He paid the orc-thing’s viscera no mind as it clung to his shield, fleshtorn bits dripping black demon blood. He hurried to Ramana’s side, to quickly to check her wounds, keeping his panic in check as he was trained. She was slashed from shoulder to hip and from neck to belly. The wounds were not deep, but nor did they bleed, and Ramana felt cold in Bashstrong’s thick battle-worn hands. He would have figured her for dead except for the violent seizure-like shuddering. Poison? He attempted a curative spell, then cursed himself for not realizing the cuts were indeed deep enough to shed blood. No, her very blood had been drained from her body, in one attack! There was nothing he could do for her. Bashstrong couldn’t hold back the tears welling up from inside him as Ramana suddenly went still, her wounds becoming black.
Talcheann, quite proud of his most recent work in the hallway behind them, did not take notice of his fallen comrade, and indeed didn’t even notice the Orc sneaking up behind him with a raised club. He was busy admiring the way the moss he coaxed out from the wall was holding its quarry, another Draekkon, so firmly in place. He cocked his head at the trapped beast (oh, this moss was strong!) and started forward, thinking to examine it while it was quite alive. He had never seen such a creature.
“My my, aren’t you a fine work of Evolution? I wonder where you’ve come from?” There was no hostility or sarcasm in his voice, as he was quite fascinated with beasts, both natural and monster. Quite an accomplished elven druid, he figured he had seen a lot of what the world had to offer in nature, but truth be told, he had very rarely ventured outside of his home forests.
“You might try taking a little more care in knowing what lies in directions other than that you can see, dearest Talcheann,” and he spun around, observing completely the scene behind him for the first time. Swoosh, the ever-stealthy elven female stood behind the orc now. She held firmly its wrist, “Or you may end up dead, like this one.” And to punctuate the words, the orc’s eyes grew wide in front of Talcheann. It coughed once, and tried to cry out. It couldn’t however, due to the serrated dagger now protruding from its throat.
