War is Hell – Tugark's account
May 8, 2018 22:38:06 GMT
mattwilkin, The Sergeant / Alisha, and 1 more like this
Post by Tugark (Retired) on May 8, 2018 22:38:06 GMT
For one brief moment, Tugark thinks he is in charge of one of the Orc Warbands. Just a moment. "Look at me! I am the warchief now!" he shouts, waving around a great scimitar in the air with one hand, a bloody stump for the other. The next thing he felt was the pummelling mass of the circle of orcs–that had just witnessed the killing of their leader–jump on top of him. Darkness embraced.
Yep, that's Tugark. You might be wondering how he got here...
Just the day before, he had been crucified–placed in a way to watch over the pillaging of Daring Heights–held on that wooden X frame buy nails driven through his hands. Having tried repeatedly over the course of days to goad any nearby orc into releasing him to fight–using all manner of insults and threats, appealing to the nature of the challenge–and not succeeding, Tugark eventually freed one of his hands by painstakingly pulling his hand through the nail.
He then called upon Pascal's great scimitar which flew to his hand, using that to cleave his restrained hand at the wrist–freeing himself from that cruel and unusual prison–he stepped down from the cross and raised his cloak of elvenkind, which the orcs had so graciously overlooked when taking his items from him. Now hidden, Tugark despatched several orcs and disabled a couple of wagons before spotting one of the warchiefs, whom he approached before doffing his cloak to reveal himself and calling out a challenge.
Buffed by something he couldn't describe, Tugark charged in–in the worst condition he's been in; one eye, one hand, cuts and bruises all over his aching body, exhaustion weighing him down... slashing at the warchief, using his whole body to follow his swings through, Tugark gives a huge beating, but not before momentarily losing consciousness, but pushing through! In a reaction to that last blow from the warchief, Tugark drives the great scimitar into the chest of his enemy, slaying him.
For one brief moment, Tugark thinks he is in charge of one of the Orc Warbands. Just a moment. "Look at me! I am the warchief now!" he shouts, waving around a great scimitar in the air with one hand, a bloody stump for the other. The next thing he felt was the pummelling mass of the circle of orcs–that had just witnessed the killing of their leader–jump on top of him. Darkness embraced.
Yep, that's Tugark. You might be wondering how he got here...
Just the day before, he had been crucified–placed in a way to watch over the pillaging of Daring Heights–held on that wooden X frame buy nails driven through his hands. Having tried repeatedly over the course of days to goad any nearby orc into releasing him to fight–using all manner of insults and threats, appealing to the nature of the challenge–and not succeeding, Tugark eventually freed one of his hands by painstakingly pulling his hand through the nail.
He then called upon Pascal's great scimitar which flew to his hand, using that to cleave his restrained hand at the wrist–freeing himself from that cruel and unusual prison–he stepped down from the cross and raised his cloak of elvenkind, which the orcs had so graciously overlooked when taking his items from him. Now hidden, Tugark despatched several orcs and disabled a couple of wagons before spotting one of the warchiefs, whom he approached before doffing his cloak to reveal himself and calling out a challenge.
Buffed by something he couldn't describe, Tugark charged in–in the worst condition he's been in; one eye, one hand, cuts and bruises all over his aching body, exhaustion weighing him down... slashing at the warchief, using his whole body to follow his swings through, Tugark gives a huge beating, but not before momentarily losing consciousness, but pushing through! In a reaction to that last blow from the warchief, Tugark drives the great scimitar into the chest of his enemy, slaying him.
For one brief moment, Tugark thinks he is in charge of one of the Orc Warbands. Just a moment. "Look at me! I am the warchief now!" he shouts, waving around a great scimitar in the air with one hand, a bloody stump for the other. The next thing he felt was the pummelling mass of the circle of orcs–that had just witnessed the killing of their leader–jump on top of him. Darkness embraced.
