by Dante Doom
“Archer! Shoot the beast in the arm!”
“I have a name,” the archer grumbled. “It’s Kalifer.”
“Shoot it, now!” Sivlander screamed as the massive creature lumbered toward him. He braced for impact, as he was a fighter and wasn’t exactly the type to dodge a blow. Immediately, the massive club crashed against his body, but he held himself firm. Pain shot through him, but he knew it was just an illusion. The mind of the fighter needed to be steeled against all pain. Holding fast after the blow, he raised his great sword and hacked away at the legs of the Ogre Chief. He heard the swiff swiff sounds as arrows flew over him, striking the beast in its right arm and causing it to stagger and reel backwards. It tried to lift its arm to slam the heavy club down atop Sivlander, but its injuries slowed it down enough for Sivlander’s blade to block the blow and push it backward. The beast was strong, but so was Sivlander.
“Come on, men, slay the beast! Together!” Sivlander shouted. The paladin had been busy healing the two injured scouts, but he leapt up and grabbed his righteous silver sword so that he could rush to flank the Ogre. The Ogre was clever enough of a creature to see this coming, though, and while it continued to strike away with its club with one hand, it reached out its other to grab the paladin. Sivlander saw this momentary distraction as the perfect opportunity, and with a deep breath, he leapt up with as much strength and speed as he could, and climbed up to set himself atop the beast’s right arm. The creature’s height was staggering, at nearly twelve feet tall, and Sivlander held on tightly in the hopes of avoiding falling.
“I’ve got it!” the paladin cried as he leapt aside and began to slash at the creature’s massive arms. The arrows kept peppering the air, striking into the Ogre’s flesh, but Crieagg’s body was so thick that many of them didn’t even draw blood.
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