James countered with a low cut into the ogre’s thigh, hitting flesh through the hides. The greatsword pulled back into an arcing cut that the man barely got his head under, swinging the broadsword across his foes shoulder and down again into the muscle on his forearm. Ogre blood ran down the his own hands and onto the huge blade, the ogre back stepping now, swinging high then low to keep his human enemy at length. No use, the knight pushed past every laid attack with shield and sword, countering every effort of the beast. James closed in on his ten foot tall adversary, stepping forward under the blade of his foe, shield raised, then feinted the block when the blow came, sidestepping to the right. As the ogre sword hit the hard earth, James’ blade went up through the jaw and mouth and into the base of the killer’s skull. It twitched and trembled as it strained to lift its weapon for another attack. James did not wait to test what it had left; he pulled the blade free, placing it perfectly into the center of the upper chest and out the back of his enemy dropping it lifeless to the ground. He took a knee, staring at the ground, the blood, and the bodies of the two young boys. He could not cry, numb from the battle and the horror of this morning, and his only thought was that he had no idea what year or day it was.James lay down again, staring at the blade of Arlinne, wanting someone to put it through him, someone to come by and end his life, wretched as it was. Off in the distance he heard a crash of stone, then a wall collapse. James looked around the southern wall where he had heard the noise, expecting an ogre army with catapults responsible. Expecting his wishes to have been granted, and for his day to finally arrive with a last battle against the ogre of Avegarne, he stood to face the western waste and whatever was to come crashing from it. He held the sword to his chest and saluted the tower of Arouland, and walked into the ancient ruined city with a smile. He walked to meet his end.
Saberrak I:I
Upper tunnels of Unlinn
The cavern was cold, colder than he had ever felt in his entire life, however long that had been. He touched the rough stone passage wall, feeling bits of frost on his fingers, what a strange cold that grows on the very walls he thought. The gray skinned minotaur carefully stepped, heel to toe, quietly following the cavern his father had told him would lead out. His thick skin did not suffer the chill air, his bare feet and tuarine muscled body could tolerate almost anything. Saberrak gripped his axe with his left hand tightly not knowing what was around the next turn and his vision was keen even with no light to be found for hours now. He smelled the air, slowly as to not stir even an echo of sound. Trolls ahead, he knew their stench, ogre also. The gray beast had fought and killed many of them both, bastard cousin races, in the arena of Unlinn where he was raised. The minotaur moved round the corner, crouching to hear if his pursuers were any closer. His owner had sent one of the deadliest of his stock after him and not alone. Chalas Kalaza, the feared brown minotaur champion, and two whites that followed with him had been chasing the fugitive for almost half a day. The white shaggy albino minotaurs he feared little, bigger and stronger yes, but feral and more like animals than any other of his race. Saberrak could out think and out move them. It was Chalas that Saberrak held a healthy fear of as he was at least a foot taller and undefeated in the arena since Saberrak was a young bull. The gray one smelled again, knowing they would not give up their hunt, and waited until he knew if they were together or separate. That fact would decide whether he took them separately and made a stand, or continued toward the surface.
His chain and hook tied loose around his belt and leather loin cloth, the gray minotaur heard nothing and continued up his dark road underground. One step at a time, he knew at
Saberrak I:I
Upper tunnels of Unlinn
The cavern was cold, colder than he had ever felt in his entire life, however long that had been. He touched the rough stone passage wall, feeling bits of frost on his fingers, what a strange cold that grows on the very walls he thought. The gray skinned minotaur carefully stepped, heel to toe, quietly following the cavern his father had told him would lead out. His thick skin did not suffer the chill air, his bare feet and tuarine muscled body could tolerate almost anything. Saberrak gripped his axe with his left hand tightly not knowing what was around the next turn and his vision was keen even with no light to be found for hours now. He smelled the air, slowly as to not stir even an echo of sound. Trolls ahead, he knew their stench, ogre also. The gray beast had fought and killed many of them both, bastard cousin races, in the arena of Unlinn where he was raised. The minotaur moved round the corner, crouching to hear if his pursuers were any closer. His owner had sent one of the deadliest of his stock after him and not alone. Chalas Kalaza, the feared brown minotaur champion, and two whites that followed with him had been chasing the fugitive for almost half a day. The white shaggy albino minotaurs he feared little, bigger and stronger yes, but feral and more like animals than any other of his race. Saberrak could out think and out move them. It was Chalas that Saberrak held a healthy fear of as he was at least a foot taller and undefeated in the arena since Saberrak was a young bull. The gray one smelled again, knowing they would not give up their hunt, and waited until he knew if they were together or separate. That fact would decide whether he took them separately and made a stand, or continued toward the surface.
His chain and hook tied loose around his belt and leather loin cloth, the gray minotaur heard nothing and continued up his dark road underground. One step at a time, he knew at
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