11 Sep 2007
Hello fellow ogres.
This is the first part of the background that I am gradually building up for my ogre tribe, The Yettothinkofacoolnames. I typed it all out in notepad, so I apologise for any weird line breaks/paragraphs etc.
Any criticisms/comments/suggestions welcomed.
Thanks for reading.
jaklz
It was cold. Completely, utterly, desolately cold.
This was the only thing Varuk was aware of as he inched his way, hand by hand, up the side
of the mountain. The chill seeped through the many layers of thick furs he was wearing,
through his tough and weather-worn skin, even through the thick layer of fat that his kind
had evolved for the very purpose of keeping warm.
The cold clung to his bones, freezing him slowly from the inside out. It pushed all thought
from his mind, he had long since forgotten why he was climbing this Maw-forsaken mountain in the first
place. But climbing was movement, and movement was warmth, and warmth was life. So he continued to
climb, though he could no longer feel his fingers as they clung to each new handhold on the sheer, black rockface.
Gradually, as he continued to climb for what seemed like hours, he became of something other than the piercing cold
and the howl of the wind. A deep, rumbling sound, like that made by a bull blowing a mammoth-tusk horn, was audible over
the shriek of the rushing air. The deep tones rolled regularly down the mountain, almost like the bellows of some great
creature.
Some great creature...
And all of a sudden, Varuk remembered why he was freezing to death high upon this desolate mountain. The prophecy. The
beast. The key to his revenge and his tribes redemption.
The harsh, gutteral voice of a dying ogre echoed in his mind, repeating once more the words of the prophecy that had caused
him to set out on this impossible quest.
"The answer to your problems lies,
high upon Blackfrost mountains sides.
Slay the beast atop the peak,
and you shall find the strength you seek."
Varuk knew it was a prophecy, and not merely babbling nonsense that the dying ogre had uttered in his last moments. For
starters, no ogre could speak that elegantly, himself included. That was for the thinlings to do. So some other presence had
been using the dying ogre as a vessel to speak, of that he was sure. Why it had waited until Varuk had almost killed the
mad ogre
before it spoke, he did not know. But he was certain the prophecy was meant for him. Who else could it have been meant for?
The ogre may not have known himself, he was almost certainly deranged, judging by the black rocks he had hammered into his
gums in place of teeth, the ragged smock he had been wearing in the middle of the freezing mountains and the bells that had
been hung from chains anchored in his own flesh. But Varuk was sure that he had not run into the mad bull by chance. He
had been hunting alone, far from the lands of any known tribe, when the bull had come roaring out of nowhere, bellowing
nonsense and slashing at him with bloodstained cleavers. The chances of him being there through sheer dumb chance were
nil.
And so after devouring the dead bull, he had set out for this mountain. Mount Blackfrost, Black Ice Peak, Mount Blackfang; its
names were many and its reputation fearsome. Located in the far northern reaches of the Mountains of Mourn, even further
north than the traditional lands of his tribe, near the beginning of the Chaos wastes, it towered over all the mountains
around it. It was formed of dark-grey rock, and when it was frosted over with cold, which was almost all the time, thanks
to its altitude, the layer of ice covering the rock caused it to look black.
Few ogres ever attempted to climb it, for its remote location, coupled with its size and sheerness, made it a fearsome task.
It was like a great fang, steep-sided and smooth, unconquerable. Legend held that only one ogre had ever made it to the top,
and even he had perished, for such was the mountains anger at being conquered that it had swallowed the ogre into itself.
Varuk knew he had little chance of suceeding, but he had to try anyway. If slaying this beast could help him redeem himself
and save his tribe, then he was willing to risk everything.
The sudden return of his purpose acted upon him like a stimulant. Renewed strength flowed into his muscles, and he began
to haul himself up the mountain with greater speed. Handhold by handhold, inch by inch, he clawed his way up the steep,
ice-covered cliff, digging his spiked boots into the black ice and driving himself ever onward toward his goal.
Gradually the bellows became louder and clearer, even as the air became colder and the wind rushed faster. It was like
climbing into a raging storm. The mountain began to shake, chunks of ice breaking free from the cliff face and raining down
upon him. Whatever was up there, it was big, thought Varuk. He could now hear two distinctly different voices bellowing,
it sounded like a fight was in progress upon the mountain top. Varuk continued to inch his way up as the bellows and thuds
from above shook the mountain, sending more chunks of ice cascading down upon him and threatening to send him plummeting
to his death. He was forced to stop climbing and simply cling to the mountain for dear life as the bellows and roars reached
a creshendo and the mountain shuddered and shook like a living thing. One last defeaning crash shook the mountain, followed
by a great roar of triumph, then the noise stopped, and there was only the howl of the wind once more.
Varuk cautiously looked up again as the echoes from the tumultuous conflict died away. He slowly began to climb again,
keeping his eyes fixed upon the mountainside above him. He was so close to the summit now, he could sense it. At last, his
numb fingers found the edge of the stone plateu that topped the mountain. Cautiously he raised his head to peer over the
edge, his elation at reaching the summit tempered by the knowledge that some terrible beast awaited him. At first he could
make out nothing through the swirling snow, but gradually the scene became clearer, and he froze in awe at what he could
see. A huge, dark shape lay on the ground, covered in shaggy brown fur. Varuk could see that it was a giant Great Mammoth,
one of the largest he had ever seen, and he had seen and slain many during his life as a hunter. It would've stood at least
thirty feet high on its four legs, and the great, blood-stained tusks that jutted from its jaw were as long as an ogres leg,
and almost as thick. But the size of the great beast was not what made him stare in amazement. What made him stare was the
fact that it was dead, and that its killer was looking straight at him.
The creature that had slain the great mammoth was unlike anything Varuk had ever seen before. It's lower body was similar
to the Mammoths, four-legged and covered in shaggy hair. But its feet were not the great, soft pads of the mammoth. Its
huge legs ended in terrible claws, three on each leg, each claw as big as Varuks hand and covered in blood. It's long, hair-
covered tail was as thick as Varuks arm, and it too ended in a huge, bony spike. From the waist up it had a body similar
to that of an ogre or man, but far, far bigger. Its skin was deathly white and seemed to glow through the storm. One of its
giant arms ended in terrible claws, similar to the ones on its feet, but longer. In the its other hand the beast
held a huge, spiked hammer, larger than a full grown man by far. Its face was a terrifying mixture of man and beast. Two
fangs, like those of a sabretooth, jutted from its lower jaw, and its nose was flat and slit-nostrilled. Its eyes burned
like two coals in their sockets, their baleful gaze fixed upon Varuk. The ogre hunter had seen and slain the worst the
Mountains of Mourn had to offer, from Yhetti greybacks to bull Rhinoxen to viscious sabretooth packs and more, he had fought
Orcs and goblins and Chaos barbarians and felt no fear, but now, standing before this beast, he was terrified. He was less
than a Gnoblar to this thing, and to attack it could only result in certain death. But he could not go back, not now that the
beast had seen him. It would shake the mountain and send him falling to his death in an instant. He was a hunter, and this
beast was prey. If he was to die on this mountain, then he would die in battle, not fleeing like a thinling child. With a
great effort, Varuk pushed the fear from his mind and clambered over the edge onto the summit, ready to meet his end.
Varuk pushed himself to his feet and drew his great crossbow from upon his back, setting a bolt as thick as a
humans arm into place, ready to fire. The great beast laughed as it watched him, the impossibly deep chuckles rolling around
the mountain top like distant thunder.
"Fool," it said, and its voice sent shudders down Varuks spine. It was ageless, timeless, thick with malice and so deep
that it seemed to emanate from the ground beneath Varuks feet.
"What purpose has driven you here, foolish whelp?" it asked. "Do you seek to slay me?"
"Yes," said Varuk simply, his own voice sounding like a childs in comparison.
The beast laughed again.
"Brave, whelp, very brave. But foolhardy. What chance do you think you have? I have dwelled in these mountains since before
you and your ignorant kin were driven from the eastlands by the coming of the Maw," it said. It gestured at the massive
hammer clutched in its bloodied hand: "I fought and slew the most powerful of the Skytitans before even your most ancient
ancestors lived. What are you compared to them? Turn and flee, whelp. You have no place here. You are not worthy," the beast
sneered.
Varuk gripped his crossbow tighter, struggling to control his fear. "Maybe so," he said, and he was pleased to hear his voice
was steady. "But I'm not running from no one."
And he raised the crossbow and fired.
The bolt soared through the air, slamming into the beasts body just below
its waist and burying itself deep into the fur-covered flesh. The beast
roared, more in surprise than pain, as it was wounded for the first time in centuries. Varuk swiftly reloaded his crossbow and
fired again, this time sending a bolt deep into the monsters right foreleg. He pulled a third bolt from his quiver and readied
it as the beast began to bear down on him, shaking the ground as it charged. He fired, but his aim was slightly off, and the
thick bolt merely opened a gash on the beasts right arm as it flew past.
Varuk threw his crossbow aside and drew his heavy club as the beast approached, roaring in anger.
"Impudent creature!" it bellowed. "How dare you even think to challenge me! I will tear you limb from limb for this!"
The massive hammer arced down, but Varuk was ready. He flung himself to one side, rolling to his feet as the hammer smashed
into the ground with staggering force. The snow-covered stone of the mountain top cracked and split as the hammer-head drove
downward into the earth. Before the beast could withdraw its hand Varuk struck it with his club, putting all the strength he
could muster into the blow. The white skin split open and a spurt of dark blood flew into the air, freezing solid before it
hit the ground. Varuk heard a series of sickening cracks as the beasts bones splintered and broke under the force of the blow.
The beast roared in pain as it whipped its mangled hand out of the way, dropping the hammer to the ground. Varuk glimpsed the
other hand swinging toward him out of the corner of his eye, the long talons red with the frozen blood of the mammoth. He
threw himself forward, but was not quite fast enough.
The tips of the talons raked his back as they whistled past, slicing
through the leathers and furs on his back like paper and tearing open his flesh. Agony shot through him as he rolled to his
feet, but he did not cry out. He smashed the club into the left foreleg of the giant beast, and felt it crunch into the bone.
But the leg did not break, the fiends bones thick enough to withstand a blow that would have torn a human in half. Varuk
smashed his club into the leg again, but this blow had no more effect than the last one. The beast roared in fury, and stepped
backwards so that it could attack Varuk. The hunter leapt backwards as the taloned claw of the beast whistled in again,
missing his chest by a hairs breadth. He stumbled and fell flat on his back as his feet caught on something. His club flew
from his hand as he hit the ground, clattering away over the hard stone. He looked up and saw the beast rear up onto its hind
legs, preparing to crush him into nothingness. He rolled to one side as a giant, clawed foot descended toward his face,
the talons digging into the stone as they stomped down onto where his head had been just a heartbeat ago. He rolled to his
feet, drawing a long knife from his belt as he did so. Ducking another swipe of the beasts talons, he stabbed upwards, burying
the inch-thick blade deep into the beasts lower body. A gush of dark blood stained the matted fur around the wound as the
beast roared in anger once again. Varuk was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid yet another swipe from its talons.
He rolled forward, getting to his feet directly underneath the beasts stomach. He slashed quickly with the long knife, opening
up a deep gash in the beasts belly.
But the wound was less than a scratch to the huge creature, such was the toughness and
thickness of its ancient flesh. With surprising speed, it flopped to the ground, seeking to crush Varuk beneath its immense
bulk. The hunter flung himself out of harms way just in time as the mountain shook with the impact. He clambered to his feet
again, breathing hard and clutching the bloody knife in his hand. The beast was struggling to rise to its feet, unable
to push itself up as quickly as it had collapsed upon him. Seizing his chance, Varuk grabbed a handfull of the beasts shaggy
fur and swung himself onto its back. He ran forward along the beasts wide back, holding the knife aloft. He was just about
to plunge it into the beasts unprotected neck when it lurched to its feet, throwing him off balance. He staggered and then
fell, plummeting past the beasts flank and crashing to the ground. He landed heavily on his left arm and felt his wrist
break as it was crushed beneath his body. Ignoring the pain, he got to his feet and turned in time to see the long, thick
tail of the beast heading directly for him.
It slammed into his chest with the force of a charging rhinox and he felt his ribs crack and the air whoosh out of his lungs as
he was lifted from his feet and sent sailing backward through the air like a punted gnoblar. He crashed down onto the frozen
stone with a bone-rattling crunch. Blinding lights erupted in front of his eyes as his head whipped back and struck the ground
with a sickening crack, and for a moment everything went black.
He came to and slowly clambered to his feet as the beast
turned ponderously around to face him. Varuks head swam and his breath came in shallow gasps, each one sending stabs of pain
shooting through his shattered ribs. His left wrist throbbed with pain, and the deep gashes on his back burned with every
beat of his heart. Never had Varuk suffered such a beating. By contrast, the beast he sought to slay was almost unharmed, its
mangled left hand the only serious injury it had suffered. The beast bared its pointed teeth in an evil grin as its eyes
found the battered ogre.
"You have fought well, stripling," it growled. "No creature has managed to draw my blood for many, many years. But I tire
of our little dance. It is time for you to reap the rewards of your bravery."
Flexing its taloned hand, the beast stalked toward Varuk, who raised his bloodied knife, ready to die fighting. He knew he
was doomed, no weapon he possessed could harm this beast. Then he saw the hammer, lying on the ground behind the advancing
titan. If it had once been wielded by a mighty skytitan, it might be powerful enough to damage the beast, if only he could
reach it. Looking up again,
Varuk locked eyes with the beast as it bore down on him. He set his feet as the beast raised its talons for the deathblow,
waiting until the last possible instant before throwing himself forward, ducking under the wailing talons and rolling through
the beasts forelegs. He pushed himself to his feet, adrenaline thundering through his veins. He sprinted toward the hammer,
the spikes on his boots digging into the icy ground. He reached the weapon as the beast began to turn. Grasping it in both
hands, he strained to lift it, roaring in pain as the bones in his broken wrist grated against each other. With a massive
effort, he hefted it in both hands and turned toward the beast, which was still lumbering around. Raising the hammer over his
head, he pounded back toward the beast and swung the massive weapon around in an arc, slamming it into the gigantic creatures
trunk-like left leg just as it managed to face him. This time he felt the bone splinter and break as the heavy weapon struck
it with stone-shattering force. The giant beast stumbled as Varuk raised the hammer again and struck, this
time shattering its right leg in spray of dark blood. With a roar of real pain this time, the beast collapsed onto its knees,
unable to bear its own enourmous weight upon its shattered limbs. It lashed out at Varuk with its talons, tearing open more deep gashes across the ogres chest. But
now its upper body was within Varuks reach, and before it could slash him again, he swung the hammer at the taloned arm,
catching it just above the elbow. The massive weapon tore through the joint, sending the beasts forearm and hand spinning
away through the freezing air, trailing a fluttering ribbon of thick dark blood. The beast howled and thrashed its tail,
lashing out at Varuk with the mangled hand that was now its only weapon. Varuk ducked the blow and then raised the hammer once
again. His eyes met the creatures burning stare, and for a moment everything froze as they glared at each other. Then the titan
hammer descended for the last time, and it was over.
Varuk watched as the great beasts body collapsed sideways onto the snow, its head crushed into a bloodied mess. The great hammer fell
from his shaking hands as he too fell to his knees, the pain of his injuries flooding back as the adrenaline rush of the previous
minute faded. Stars swam in front of his eyes, and great coughs racked his body, sending flecks of blood onto the snow. His ribs burned like fire,
and he
could feel the wounds on his back and chest bleeding profusely. He was dying. Once again, he became aware of the cold. As the
world began to fade into darkness, he toppled forward onto the still warm body of the giant beast that he had slain.
Warm...
The fact registered dimly in his brain, and with it came a last glimmer of hope for survival. Barely aware of what he was
doing, he dragged himself over the beasts chest and crawled to where his knife his opened up a deep gash in its stomach.
He drew another knife from his belt and plunged it into the beasts flesh, carving open a deep rent in its dead body. A flood
of warm blood washed over his hands and arms as he pierced the beasts layer of muscle and fat and reached the inner cavity
of its enourmous corpse. Piles of glistening entrails spilled out onto the bloody snow as he widened the cut, steaming as their warmth was
quickly leeched away by the freezing air. With a last effort, he held the gash open with his good arm and crawled inside the
beasts hollowed out body. Warmth, wonderful warmth washed over him for second, before he collapsed and the whole world faded away.
FIN. For now. Thanks again for reading.
My main concern is that the big battle seems a little drawn out and doesnt seem to flow too well.
This is the first part of the background that I am gradually building up for my ogre tribe, The Yettothinkofacoolnames. I typed it all out in notepad, so I apologise for any weird line breaks/paragraphs etc.
Any criticisms/comments/suggestions welcomed.
Thanks for reading.
jaklz
It was cold. Completely, utterly, desolately cold.
This was the only thing Varuk was aware of as he inched his way, hand by hand, up the side
of the mountain. The chill seeped through the many layers of thick furs he was wearing,
through his tough and weather-worn skin, even through the thick layer of fat that his kind
had evolved for the very purpose of keeping warm.
The cold clung to his bones, freezing him slowly from the inside out. It pushed all thought
from his mind, he had long since forgotten why he was climbing this Maw-forsaken mountain in the first
place. But climbing was movement, and movement was warmth, and warmth was life. So he continued to
climb, though he could no longer feel his fingers as they clung to each new handhold on the sheer, black rockface.
Gradually, as he continued to climb for what seemed like hours, he became of something other than the piercing cold
and the howl of the wind. A deep, rumbling sound, like that made by a bull blowing a mammoth-tusk horn, was audible over
the shriek of the rushing air. The deep tones rolled regularly down the mountain, almost like the bellows of some great
creature.
Some great creature...
And all of a sudden, Varuk remembered why he was freezing to death high upon this desolate mountain. The prophecy. The
beast. The key to his revenge and his tribes redemption.
The harsh, gutteral voice of a dying ogre echoed in his mind, repeating once more the words of the prophecy that had caused
him to set out on this impossible quest.
"The answer to your problems lies,
high upon Blackfrost mountains sides.
Slay the beast atop the peak,
and you shall find the strength you seek."
Varuk knew it was a prophecy, and not merely babbling nonsense that the dying ogre had uttered in his last moments. For
starters, no ogre could speak that elegantly, himself included. That was for the thinlings to do. So some other presence had
been using the dying ogre as a vessel to speak, of that he was sure. Why it had waited until Varuk had almost killed the
mad ogre
before it spoke, he did not know. But he was certain the prophecy was meant for him. Who else could it have been meant for?
The ogre may not have known himself, he was almost certainly deranged, judging by the black rocks he had hammered into his
gums in place of teeth, the ragged smock he had been wearing in the middle of the freezing mountains and the bells that had
been hung from chains anchored in his own flesh. But Varuk was sure that he had not run into the mad bull by chance. He
had been hunting alone, far from the lands of any known tribe, when the bull had come roaring out of nowhere, bellowing
nonsense and slashing at him with bloodstained cleavers. The chances of him being there through sheer dumb chance were
nil.
And so after devouring the dead bull, he had set out for this mountain. Mount Blackfrost, Black Ice Peak, Mount Blackfang; its
names were many and its reputation fearsome. Located in the far northern reaches of the Mountains of Mourn, even further
north than the traditional lands of his tribe, near the beginning of the Chaos wastes, it towered over all the mountains
around it. It was formed of dark-grey rock, and when it was frosted over with cold, which was almost all the time, thanks
to its altitude, the layer of ice covering the rock caused it to look black.
Few ogres ever attempted to climb it, for its remote location, coupled with its size and sheerness, made it a fearsome task.
It was like a great fang, steep-sided and smooth, unconquerable. Legend held that only one ogre had ever made it to the top,
and even he had perished, for such was the mountains anger at being conquered that it had swallowed the ogre into itself.
Varuk knew he had little chance of suceeding, but he had to try anyway. If slaying this beast could help him redeem himself
and save his tribe, then he was willing to risk everything.
The sudden return of his purpose acted upon him like a stimulant. Renewed strength flowed into his muscles, and he began
to haul himself up the mountain with greater speed. Handhold by handhold, inch by inch, he clawed his way up the steep,
ice-covered cliff, digging his spiked boots into the black ice and driving himself ever onward toward his goal.
Gradually the bellows became louder and clearer, even as the air became colder and the wind rushed faster. It was like
climbing into a raging storm. The mountain began to shake, chunks of ice breaking free from the cliff face and raining down
upon him. Whatever was up there, it was big, thought Varuk. He could now hear two distinctly different voices bellowing,
it sounded like a fight was in progress upon the mountain top. Varuk continued to inch his way up as the bellows and thuds
from above shook the mountain, sending more chunks of ice cascading down upon him and threatening to send him plummeting
to his death. He was forced to stop climbing and simply cling to the mountain for dear life as the bellows and roars reached
a creshendo and the mountain shuddered and shook like a living thing. One last defeaning crash shook the mountain, followed
by a great roar of triumph, then the noise stopped, and there was only the howl of the wind once more.
Varuk cautiously looked up again as the echoes from the tumultuous conflict died away. He slowly began to climb again,
keeping his eyes fixed upon the mountainside above him. He was so close to the summit now, he could sense it. At last, his
numb fingers found the edge of the stone plateu that topped the mountain. Cautiously he raised his head to peer over the
edge, his elation at reaching the summit tempered by the knowledge that some terrible beast awaited him. At first he could
make out nothing through the swirling snow, but gradually the scene became clearer, and he froze in awe at what he could
see. A huge, dark shape lay on the ground, covered in shaggy brown fur. Varuk could see that it was a giant Great Mammoth,
one of the largest he had ever seen, and he had seen and slain many during his life as a hunter. It would've stood at least
thirty feet high on its four legs, and the great, blood-stained tusks that jutted from its jaw were as long as an ogres leg,
and almost as thick. But the size of the great beast was not what made him stare in amazement. What made him stare was the
fact that it was dead, and that its killer was looking straight at him.
The creature that had slain the great mammoth was unlike anything Varuk had ever seen before. It's lower body was similar
to the Mammoths, four-legged and covered in shaggy hair. But its feet were not the great, soft pads of the mammoth. Its
huge legs ended in terrible claws, three on each leg, each claw as big as Varuks hand and covered in blood. It's long, hair-
covered tail was as thick as Varuks arm, and it too ended in a huge, bony spike. From the waist up it had a body similar
to that of an ogre or man, but far, far bigger. Its skin was deathly white and seemed to glow through the storm. One of its
giant arms ended in terrible claws, similar to the ones on its feet, but longer. In the its other hand the beast
held a huge, spiked hammer, larger than a full grown man by far. Its face was a terrifying mixture of man and beast. Two
fangs, like those of a sabretooth, jutted from its lower jaw, and its nose was flat and slit-nostrilled. Its eyes burned
like two coals in their sockets, their baleful gaze fixed upon Varuk. The ogre hunter had seen and slain the worst the
Mountains of Mourn had to offer, from Yhetti greybacks to bull Rhinoxen to viscious sabretooth packs and more, he had fought
Orcs and goblins and Chaos barbarians and felt no fear, but now, standing before this beast, he was terrified. He was less
than a Gnoblar to this thing, and to attack it could only result in certain death. But he could not go back, not now that the
beast had seen him. It would shake the mountain and send him falling to his death in an instant. He was a hunter, and this
beast was prey. If he was to die on this mountain, then he would die in battle, not fleeing like a thinling child. With a
great effort, Varuk pushed the fear from his mind and clambered over the edge onto the summit, ready to meet his end.
Varuk pushed himself to his feet and drew his great crossbow from upon his back, setting a bolt as thick as a
humans arm into place, ready to fire. The great beast laughed as it watched him, the impossibly deep chuckles rolling around
the mountain top like distant thunder.
"Fool," it said, and its voice sent shudders down Varuks spine. It was ageless, timeless, thick with malice and so deep
that it seemed to emanate from the ground beneath Varuks feet.
"What purpose has driven you here, foolish whelp?" it asked. "Do you seek to slay me?"
"Yes," said Varuk simply, his own voice sounding like a childs in comparison.
The beast laughed again.
"Brave, whelp, very brave. But foolhardy. What chance do you think you have? I have dwelled in these mountains since before
you and your ignorant kin were driven from the eastlands by the coming of the Maw," it said. It gestured at the massive
hammer clutched in its bloodied hand: "I fought and slew the most powerful of the Skytitans before even your most ancient
ancestors lived. What are you compared to them? Turn and flee, whelp. You have no place here. You are not worthy," the beast
sneered.
Varuk gripped his crossbow tighter, struggling to control his fear. "Maybe so," he said, and he was pleased to hear his voice
was steady. "But I'm not running from no one."
And he raised the crossbow and fired.
The bolt soared through the air, slamming into the beasts body just below
its waist and burying itself deep into the fur-covered flesh. The beast
roared, more in surprise than pain, as it was wounded for the first time in centuries. Varuk swiftly reloaded his crossbow and
fired again, this time sending a bolt deep into the monsters right foreleg. He pulled a third bolt from his quiver and readied
it as the beast began to bear down on him, shaking the ground as it charged. He fired, but his aim was slightly off, and the
thick bolt merely opened a gash on the beasts right arm as it flew past.
Varuk threw his crossbow aside and drew his heavy club as the beast approached, roaring in anger.
"Impudent creature!" it bellowed. "How dare you even think to challenge me! I will tear you limb from limb for this!"
The massive hammer arced down, but Varuk was ready. He flung himself to one side, rolling to his feet as the hammer smashed
into the ground with staggering force. The snow-covered stone of the mountain top cracked and split as the hammer-head drove
downward into the earth. Before the beast could withdraw its hand Varuk struck it with his club, putting all the strength he
could muster into the blow. The white skin split open and a spurt of dark blood flew into the air, freezing solid before it
hit the ground. Varuk heard a series of sickening cracks as the beasts bones splintered and broke under the force of the blow.
The beast roared in pain as it whipped its mangled hand out of the way, dropping the hammer to the ground. Varuk glimpsed the
other hand swinging toward him out of the corner of his eye, the long talons red with the frozen blood of the mammoth. He
threw himself forward, but was not quite fast enough.
The tips of the talons raked his back as they whistled past, slicing
through the leathers and furs on his back like paper and tearing open his flesh. Agony shot through him as he rolled to his
feet, but he did not cry out. He smashed the club into the left foreleg of the giant beast, and felt it crunch into the bone.
But the leg did not break, the fiends bones thick enough to withstand a blow that would have torn a human in half. Varuk
smashed his club into the leg again, but this blow had no more effect than the last one. The beast roared in fury, and stepped
backwards so that it could attack Varuk. The hunter leapt backwards as the taloned claw of the beast whistled in again,
missing his chest by a hairs breadth. He stumbled and fell flat on his back as his feet caught on something. His club flew
from his hand as he hit the ground, clattering away over the hard stone. He looked up and saw the beast rear up onto its hind
legs, preparing to crush him into nothingness. He rolled to one side as a giant, clawed foot descended toward his face,
the talons digging into the stone as they stomped down onto where his head had been just a heartbeat ago. He rolled to his
feet, drawing a long knife from his belt as he did so. Ducking another swipe of the beasts talons, he stabbed upwards, burying
the inch-thick blade deep into the beasts lower body. A gush of dark blood stained the matted fur around the wound as the
beast roared in anger once again. Varuk was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid yet another swipe from its talons.
He rolled forward, getting to his feet directly underneath the beasts stomach. He slashed quickly with the long knife, opening
up a deep gash in the beasts belly.
But the wound was less than a scratch to the huge creature, such was the toughness and
thickness of its ancient flesh. With surprising speed, it flopped to the ground, seeking to crush Varuk beneath its immense
bulk. The hunter flung himself out of harms way just in time as the mountain shook with the impact. He clambered to his feet
again, breathing hard and clutching the bloody knife in his hand. The beast was struggling to rise to its feet, unable
to push itself up as quickly as it had collapsed upon him. Seizing his chance, Varuk grabbed a handfull of the beasts shaggy
fur and swung himself onto its back. He ran forward along the beasts wide back, holding the knife aloft. He was just about
to plunge it into the beasts unprotected neck when it lurched to its feet, throwing him off balance. He staggered and then
fell, plummeting past the beasts flank and crashing to the ground. He landed heavily on his left arm and felt his wrist
break as it was crushed beneath his body. Ignoring the pain, he got to his feet and turned in time to see the long, thick
tail of the beast heading directly for him.
It slammed into his chest with the force of a charging rhinox and he felt his ribs crack and the air whoosh out of his lungs as
he was lifted from his feet and sent sailing backward through the air like a punted gnoblar. He crashed down onto the frozen
stone with a bone-rattling crunch. Blinding lights erupted in front of his eyes as his head whipped back and struck the ground
with a sickening crack, and for a moment everything went black.
He came to and slowly clambered to his feet as the beast
turned ponderously around to face him. Varuks head swam and his breath came in shallow gasps, each one sending stabs of pain
shooting through his shattered ribs. His left wrist throbbed with pain, and the deep gashes on his back burned with every
beat of his heart. Never had Varuk suffered such a beating. By contrast, the beast he sought to slay was almost unharmed, its
mangled left hand the only serious injury it had suffered. The beast bared its pointed teeth in an evil grin as its eyes
found the battered ogre.
"You have fought well, stripling," it growled. "No creature has managed to draw my blood for many, many years. But I tire
of our little dance. It is time for you to reap the rewards of your bravery."
Flexing its taloned hand, the beast stalked toward Varuk, who raised his bloodied knife, ready to die fighting. He knew he
was doomed, no weapon he possessed could harm this beast. Then he saw the hammer, lying on the ground behind the advancing
titan. If it had once been wielded by a mighty skytitan, it might be powerful enough to damage the beast, if only he could
reach it. Looking up again,
Varuk locked eyes with the beast as it bore down on him. He set his feet as the beast raised its talons for the deathblow,
waiting until the last possible instant before throwing himself forward, ducking under the wailing talons and rolling through
the beasts forelegs. He pushed himself to his feet, adrenaline thundering through his veins. He sprinted toward the hammer,
the spikes on his boots digging into the icy ground. He reached the weapon as the beast began to turn. Grasping it in both
hands, he strained to lift it, roaring in pain as the bones in his broken wrist grated against each other. With a massive
effort, he hefted it in both hands and turned toward the beast, which was still lumbering around. Raising the hammer over his
head, he pounded back toward the beast and swung the massive weapon around in an arc, slamming it into the gigantic creatures
trunk-like left leg just as it managed to face him. This time he felt the bone splinter and break as the heavy weapon struck
it with stone-shattering force. The giant beast stumbled as Varuk raised the hammer again and struck, this
time shattering its right leg in spray of dark blood. With a roar of real pain this time, the beast collapsed onto its knees,
unable to bear its own enourmous weight upon its shattered limbs. It lashed out at Varuk with its talons, tearing open more deep gashes across the ogres chest. But
now its upper body was within Varuks reach, and before it could slash him again, he swung the hammer at the taloned arm,
catching it just above the elbow. The massive weapon tore through the joint, sending the beasts forearm and hand spinning
away through the freezing air, trailing a fluttering ribbon of thick dark blood. The beast howled and thrashed its tail,
lashing out at Varuk with the mangled hand that was now its only weapon. Varuk ducked the blow and then raised the hammer once
again. His eyes met the creatures burning stare, and for a moment everything froze as they glared at each other. Then the titan
hammer descended for the last time, and it was over.
Varuk watched as the great beasts body collapsed sideways onto the snow, its head crushed into a bloodied mess. The great hammer fell
from his shaking hands as he too fell to his knees, the pain of his injuries flooding back as the adrenaline rush of the previous
minute faded. Stars swam in front of his eyes, and great coughs racked his body, sending flecks of blood onto the snow. His ribs burned like fire,
and he
could feel the wounds on his back and chest bleeding profusely. He was dying. Once again, he became aware of the cold. As the
world began to fade into darkness, he toppled forward onto the still warm body of the giant beast that he had slain.
Warm...
The fact registered dimly in his brain, and with it came a last glimmer of hope for survival. Barely aware of what he was
doing, he dragged himself over the beasts chest and crawled to where his knife his opened up a deep gash in its stomach.
He drew another knife from his belt and plunged it into the beasts flesh, carving open a deep rent in its dead body. A flood
of warm blood washed over his hands and arms as he pierced the beasts layer of muscle and fat and reached the inner cavity
of its enourmous corpse. Piles of glistening entrails spilled out onto the bloody snow as he widened the cut, steaming as their warmth was
quickly leeched away by the freezing air. With a last effort, he held the gash open with his good arm and crawled inside the
beasts hollowed out body. Warmth, wonderful warmth washed over him for second, before he collapsed and the whole world faded away.
FIN. For now. Thanks again for reading.
My main concern is that the big battle seems a little drawn out and doesnt seem to flow too well.
Who needs a witty signature when you're a ten-foot eating machine?