49 - Dangers from the Depths
Dripping humanoids pulled themselves over the railings. A fat moon, just a day away from being full, lit the monstrosity clearly. Joe's first thought was giant piranhas on legs. Massive bulbous yellow eyes glowered from under domed brows. As creepy as their alien eyes were, they were not nearly as horrifying as the rows of jagged teeth erupting from their underbite-shaped mouths.
The seven-foot-tall creatures only wore belts or bandoleers to which blades or nets were attached. Strapped across their backs were huge spears. These were brought to bear the moment their webbed feet hit the deck.
Azbekt must either have had a danger sense skill or read the shock on Joe’s face. In one fluid motion, he stepped back towards the keg he had been sitting on, scooped up his axe, and spun, driving the weapon deep into the side of the monster looming behind him. The blade hissed as it burnt the flesh around the axehead. The creature shrieked in a reverberating scream before trying to bat the armored warrior away. As its claw came down, the warrior's shield magically manifested on his arm, blocking the blow.
Joe snapped out of his surprise and targeted another of the piranha brutes just as it was about to swing its leg over the railing. “Deaden Flesh!” he yelled, targeting the hand that was holding the rail, immediately winced in embarrassment.
Your spell has inflicted the {Numbed} affliction on the Ripjaw Gartroll.
Your skill [Deadened Flesh] has increased to rank 4.
“I gotta stop doing that,” he muttered to himself. Embarrassing or not, the spell did just what he intended it to do. Before the creature could plant a foot on the deck, its grasp went slack, sending the monster tumbling backward into the sea.
Joe saw another attempting to board. As he targeted this one’s grip, he looked to see what they actually were.
Ripjaw Gartroll: Level 15: Troll: Soldier: Strength: 295/295
Before he finished casting his spell, a net flew through the air. Knotted cords of seaweed entangled half a dozen passengers a few feet to his right. The troll yanked the rope attached to the mesh, sweeping the captives off their feet. Joe could hear the refugees smacking into the deck before they started screaming.
As the net slid across the deck, Joe realized that this was a hunting party and that these people were the prey. He retargeted the spell he was casting, releasing it at the net hunter’s hands. The scaled monstrosity must have partially resisted the [Deaden Flesh]. It looked puzzled at one hand, but the other one still held tightly to the rope.
After flicking his ring to boost his Dex, Joe pulled out the goblin knife and slashed it across the taut line. The oversharpened blade sliced through the braided kelp tether almost as if it wasn’t even there. As soon as the rope went slack, the brute ignored its deadened hand and let out a screeching growl at Joe. It grabbed its spear in its good fist while flexing feeling back into its senseless digits.
The spears were clearly meant for thrusting, so Joe was not ready for the marauder to swing the shaft in a long arc. He couldn’t even think to try out [Strong Arm] before the razor-sharp spearhead slashed an inch-deep gash in his abdomen. The sickening sensation of his organs trying to pour out through his sliced flesh overwhelmed Joe. He clapped a palm to his stomach, both to hold in his guts, as well as to pour healing into the wound.
This left him unprepared for the lancing thrust that drove the spear into his chest. The shaft passed right through his lung, out his back, and into the deck, leaving Joe standing but pinned in place.
The Ripjaw Gartroll has critically injured you for 188 points of damage.
You have resisted {Incapacitation} from traumatic damage.
Your skill [Stun Block] has increased to rank 1.
Impaled as he was, Joe could only watch as the approaching gartroll flexed open his taloned fingers in preparation for a killing blow. Even pouring on the healing, Joe knew he would not survive having his head slashed off. He watched the arm draw back, and the only thing his oxygen-starved mind came up with was ridiculous.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A blue hand appeared out of nowhere in front of the troll’s huge extruded eye, the index finger fully extended. He practically heard the cartoon ‘doink’ sound in his head as he sent the force hand jamming forward into the bulbous lens.
The brute's eyes must have been reinforced as it was the spell that broke apart, not the orb. Still, it noticed an eleven-pound poke.
Your skill [Helping Hand] has increased to rank 3.
The gartroll howled, staggering backward and smacking a clawed hand over its aching eye. As it refocused on him, Joe considered trying to teleport off the spear. He hesitated. Given how things had gone with the puma, he wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to blink off the impalement.
Before the raider closed the rest of the distance between them, Joe heard a voice like the howl of a storm cry out, “Leave the zephyr alone!”
A braided cord whipped around the scaly wrist, yanking the creature's arm upward. Hah’roo bound out of the night air, delivering a devastating kick to the beast’s teeth: her boot sent chipped fangs flying from the monster’s mouth.
As she came down, she looped the rope through a line of spiked fins that ran over the troll’s head and then hooked her boot heel onto the line. Stunned by the kick and then overbalanced by the force of her weight driving down on the rope, the troll lost its footing and spun face-first onto the deck.
The woman danced below an attack from another of the massive spears while launching the other end of her weapon straight at that creature's head. The rope terminated in a sharp metallic weight. The heavy prism crunched deeply into the troll's temple.
She spun her cord off the first troll’s wrist, allowing her to move away from more of the towering raiders that lurched after her. Whirling and weaving between spear thrusts and grasping claws, Hah’roo evaded attack after attack. Every now and then, the weighted line would lash out, stunning or drawing blood.
Joe took the shallowest breath through his one functioning lung and cast [Deaden Flesh] on the legs of one of the trolls in the middle of the scrum trying to pin Hah’roo down. The target failed to resist the spell and toppled over, taking out two more of his scaly allies, who in turn tripped one more.
Hah’roo noticed and replied with a voice that sounded more tinged with excitement than fear. “Well done, Healer, but stop worrying about me. Save yourself. I will be fine against these once I don’t have to cover you anymore.”
The older woman threw Joe an exultant look as if she were having the time of her life amidst the raking claws and plunging spears. There was a sense of joy radiating from her flowing evasions. Her limbs spinning and spiraling. Her weapon forming an almost hypnotic dance.
Joe’s oxygen-starved brain was so enthralled watching her, he failed to do the very thing she asked of him. It wasn’t until a spray of briny green blood splashed him in the face that Joe recovered himself. He looked over to see Yago hammering a warclub down a second time on the troll who had impaled him, painting them both in even more gore.
“Jiminy Pete, boyo. How is you still alive?” Wakely asked, appearing at his side.
Joe tried to answer, but his words just came out as a wheeze. The sailor shrugged at the unintelligible sound and asked, “What do we do?”
Joe took as deep a breath as he possibly could and was able to croak a single word. “out…”
“Out it is. Yago, can ye get the spear outta the deck? Parla an’ I will hold him, and yer gonna pull it the rest o’ the way through.”
The large aresa handed his club to one of the people climbing out of the slashed netting and wrapped a hairy hand around the spear shaft.
“Bend at the waist when I pull it out, Joe,” the barbarian commanded. “Ready?”
Lacking a voice, Joe could only nod.
Yago pulled the spear up, splintering the deck as he applied a slight twist to the shaft. The muscular aresa then dragged the spear straight back out of his chest.
A gout of blood sprayed the big man’s legs, but Joe’s magic rapidly began to stop the bleeding and close the open hole. He kept pouring on the healing, trying to rebuild his respiratory system. Thanks to Hah’roo’s charm, Joe didn’t think he could use [Healing Touch] fast enough to drain his mana dry.
The pain, on the other hand, was almost too much to bear. His chest was going to be one big ball of agony for a while, even after he reached full health. His head swam as his wounds knitted closed.
He only looked up in time to see a hulking scaled form stabbing at Parla standing next to him. This time, he had a second for [Strong Arm] to engage. Leaning away from Wakely, Joe jammed his arm into the path of the oncoming spear. He deflected it enough to prevent it from plunging through the woman but not enough to miss entirely. The spearhead cut a deep furrow down her side. Joe grabbed at her as she fell but only managed to brush his fingers against her skin. It was enough for a quick shot of healing.
Wakely took a large swing of his moonshine whiskey and sprayed it into the gartroll’s face. He stepped back and snapped his fingers, pointing his arm at the creature. A small flicker of flame jumped off his thumb and onto the dripping liquor, causing the brute’s head to erupt in flames.
Yago snatched his club from the stunned refugee holding it and began battering the burning, screaming troll.
Looking across the deck, Joe could see wounded everywhere.
And the trolls kept coming.
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