Ranger of Path

34. Dry

Pain in service to a greater good

Is pleasure awaiting memory

While flesh rots, honor's chiseled in stone

—Colgrevance Score-D'Thael

A fort lies ahead, just past a crossroads. Almost made it.

Twenty ogres with stiff impalers close in from behind.

"Keep going." Ishkur stops. "Now, Scout!"

Cevee's feet patter away, and Ishkur draws dagger and cutlass. The giants close in on him, not one passing to intercept the woman running to the fort. Interesting.

He clinks his blades together. "Have I got your attention?"

They make a wide circle around him, just close enough for a spear throw. If I had one.

One clicks mandibles together, a steady beat. The rest join in, matching it, and the sharp sound becomes deafening.

"This lipless serenade is terrible," he says. "Go sack something with vocal cords. Impale a bumpkin choir, and they'll even sing in tune."

Ishkur turns around, smiling at Cevee's back. Come on, girl. Don't you dare slow down.

"Keep your ant eyes on me, bugface platoon." He taps his shoulder. "Shield."

A few ogres shift, scratching their groins.

"It's alright. There's no dishonor in fearing a legend like me."

"Truly?" says a nasally voice. "What is legendary about you?"

The swamp giants part for one pregnant with the speaking womb-sack. Black as ichor, the ogre's skin is a fair shade darker than any of the others.

Does it stain itself or naturally black?

Ribs showing, the giant slouches forward. At least a head shorter than the rest of the ogres, it has mandibles nearly twice as long.

So size may matter.

The attached womb-sack still has human proportions. Legs crossed and wrists on knees, the man rides his ogre's impaler as if on a monastery's floor.

Ishkur says, "Colony leader, Longspear, wearing a necromancer buckle, am I right?"

The pale man-sack brushes raven hair out of his face, tapping the tip of a long nose. "I am Victor Heldane, and you do have the honor of facing our leader, Longspear."

"You aren't related to the Bunnifarm family are you? You could pass for an ugly cousin."

The caster tsks, and his ogre clicks as bloated Graytip arrives on a gray-skinned giant with short mandibles. Downgraded.

Ishkur rolls his neck. "Why so slender, Victor? Has frailty made Longspear impotent?"

Graytip wiggles his limbs. "The elf mutt is distrac—"

"And you, fallen obsidian soldier, what a handsome new bugface above your shoulder." A smidgen of power for every moment delayed. "Mandibles look a bit premature though. Are you sure it is of age?"

Ogres click, and Ishkur smirks. What a grand talent, my taunting and teasing. He clinks his blades against his helm and spins through some double weapon forms. Intoxicating, going all in with a warrior's bluff. He giggles, and the ogres snap their jaws faster.

Cevee is at the fort's gate. Take her in. A shirtless man with a massive axe stands on the wall, waving towards him.

Ishkur waves back. Just let her in, you Skull Crusher goon.