The rain pounded down harder than ever, blanketing the entire valley with what sounded like a non stop encore at the Sandpoint theatre… except this wasn’t Sandpoint. No, this was Fort Rannick, and on this stage, the swords weren’t blunted props, the ogres weren’t fathers with their sons on their shoulders wearing rucksacks filled with wool and potatoes, and the blood wasn’t imagined, it was real, and it was getting everywhere… again.
A clap of thunder peeled through the air, and then another. Nolan’s steel was providing a steady battle rhythm as revenge was being dealt out wholesale. The gates to the keep were barred, but it wouldn’t be long before the ogres outside stopped being distracted and amused by their burning brethren and came to see what was causing thunder to strike inside the keep rather than out.
But until then, the halls were being painted with a second coat of red; Ogre red. Their delight in a chance at slaughter changing to fear and cries of pain as they realized their fortunes had abandoned them as swiftly as Xanesha’s lamia bitch sister, Lucrecia. Empowered by the sorcery and prayers of her companions, Astrid gave them no time to run. With her new found strength she drove cold hard iron over and over again into pitifully weak flesh. With each stroke of her sword came the sound of rain on stone.
Astrid liked the applause.