Sitting now in the open hall of The Wailing Woman, with his best friends Beast and Ale, Rot wondered how a man like Lant survived.He was thick in the skull like a rock, clumsy, but lucky.That was it — luck.
Sitting now in the open hall of The Wailing Woman, with his best friends Beast and Ale, Rot wondered how a man like Lant survived. He was thick in the skull like a rock, clumsy, but lucky. That was it — luck.
“The luck of the Gods,” Rot said in a whisper. He drank from his mug and watched as Lant rambled and talked up some horse dung with a local at the dartboard. How else could a man rush a band of five Orcs with a short sword and come out on top? Rot wagged his head took another sip. Lant would be a half-eaten carcass had he been alone. His faithful hound, Beast, and Rift the elf — expert with a bow — had been there. Rot smiled as he relived the moments in his mind.
“Die Minions of Kreet!” Lant had bellowed, rushing the Orcs, sending Rot, Beast, Rift, and the Orcs into frenzied activity. Lant stumbled and fell flat just feet from the Orcs who had begun to scramble for cover.
A shot from Rift’s bow brought one Orc down, the arrow protruding from his eye socket. Rot was now at a full charge toward the four remaining Orcs who stared jack-jawed at the prostrate Lant. They hardly regained their fighting legs before Rot bore down upon the leader, a mighty blow from his broad sword cleaving the Orc from forehead to neck.
Rift, closer to the group now, pierced another through the shoulder with an arrow; this same Orc attempted a blow with his Ax at Lant, who was miraculously, at that very moment rolling to the side and attempting to stand. The luck of the Gods sparing his life. A second arrow from Rift through the Orcs Chest brought him down.
Rot sparred with the other two, Beast tormenting them as any good dog would.
Lant, who was on his feet again, ran the last Orc through from behind, allowing Rot to sever its head from torso.
They sorted through the Orc loot, finding a roasted human torso, some gold and silver pieces, potions, powders, scrolls, and a ring.
Lant let out a whoop. “Boys, look at this!” It was a satchel full of Magic.
Yep. The luck of the Gods, Rot thought to himself as he went to join his companion at the Dart Board.
Copyright: T. Mark Mangum, 2020. All rights reserved. No part of my story may be copied, reprinted, or published without my written consent.
T. Mark Mangum, is the product of the 60s and 70s, his imagination, wonder, thoughts, and ponderings, emboldened by Star Trek, Star Wars, Conan the Barbarian, and The Hobbit. He loves a good story and hopes you will love reading his stories. Veteran, Father, TTRPG, and board Game Junkie. He spent 20 years in the United States Army, another 10 working for the government, before realizing he should write.