Companions
He was thick in the skull like a rock — clumsy, but lucky
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.
