Flinching at the sound of a booze-based explosion ringing out, Skrakch focused on escaping his current predicament. All he had to do was stall while the sleeping agent in the booze knocked out the drunk Ratlings, and he was in the clear. Hopefully anyways, he thought to himself as he scrambled across wet cobblestone.
But even as the feral beasts called out in pain and surprise from behind him, Skrakch could hear the patter of clawed feet on sewer stones. Simplistic as they may be, they were also very quick on their feet and there was little doubt in the scrambling rogue’s mind what they’d do to him when they caught up.
Throwing himself downwards in a roll, Skrakch just barely dodged a swing of a halberd, the metal blade shaving off a clump of his fur. A quick glance behind him helped him step to the side as a second blow pierced through the air he’d just vacated.
Letting out an outraged hiss, Skrakch turned to face his foe. Luckily for him, most of the Grey Iskrin were cradling their faces or had slumped over on their logs. But the leader of the bunch stood with his halberd at the ready, slowing to brace itself for combat as it marched towards Skrakch with death in its beady eyes. Clearly, the big bastard hadn’t taken enough of a drink for it to affect him deeply, though Skrakch detected a certain uneasiness to its movements.
Normally in a fight, Skrakch tended to prefer quick brutal engagements, where he could get close to his target unawares, then do what he did best. But with a foe staring at him with hate in its eyes, things got… trickier.
Slipping past a deadly thrust of the halberd, Skrakch hollered out for help. He wasn’t down and out yet, of course. He still had an ace up his sleeve. A large, stone, vicious ace, who had a proclivity to smash its way through problems.
“Meek! Ornn! One of you bastards needs to get out here!” He cried, hoping one of his two hidden minions would come to aid him as he narrowly ducked under the leader's blade. Taking advantage of his opponents movement, Skrakch stepped forward and slashed with his claws, hoping to take the feral foe by surprise.
While one claw bit deep into the Grey Iskrin’s neck, rewarding Skrakch with a faceful of hot blood, his other clawed hand caught momentarily in the beast’s chain mail vest. Caught off guard by the development, Skrakch couldn’t gain any distance from his foe, who let out an enraged shriek and brought his head downwards for a crushing headbutt directly against Skrakch’s skull.
Falling back in a daze, Skrakch barely managed to move in time as the Grey Iskrin’s halberd whistled through the air, and cut a deep slash across his chest. Shaking off his stupor, Skrakch bristled his beautiful fur in fear, realizing how close the blow had come to splitting him open.
Reeling from the pain, he sought to dive to the side as the second blow from the feral Ratling went wide. Grabbing a vial off his bandolier, Skrakch quickly gulped down its contents. The vile liquid burned on the way down (and faintly tasted of cherry), but it also quickly put a stop to the wounded Ratling’s bleeding.
While a Blood-Clotting potion was overlooked by most, the effects were much more effective than a simple Health Tonic when it came to blood loss. The Health Tonic would have stopped his bleeding as well, but only for any blow he’d already received. Sadly, Skrakch was fairly confident he’d be getting new wounds before this battle was done, so he assumed the Blood-Clotting potion was the right choice to keep him up and running.
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Still, staying defensive would only hasten his defeat, though the Iskrin leader was clearly starting to sag with exhaustion. Skrakch himself was barely staying on his feet, so as the feral Ratling’s halberd’s blade-edge clattered against the stone in front of Skrakch, he launched himself forward with desperate rage.
Hissing and garbling in an unknown language, the feral Ratling brought his halberd up defensively, blocking off each side of Skrakch’s flurried blows before ramming the length of it into Skrakch's chest. Knocked off balance, Skrakch latched onto the weapon, pulling both combatants off their feet, and toppling them on top of one another.
Falling as a heap of hissing and biting fur, the two Iskrin quickly reverted to their rat-like instincts. Scratching wildly at one another, both of them racked up quite a few cuts and scrapes before Skrakch managed to land a lucky claw swipe on the feral rat's snout.
Squeaking in pain, the larger rat fell backward as Skrakch attempted to get to his feet. With a bit of distance gained, the furry rogue took the opportunity to flee, never too proud to ditch a losing battle. He only managed a few steps forwards, however, before a piercing pain blossomed from his back, and a mouthful of blood burst outwards from his lungs.
Staggering forward, Skrakch could see the tip of a halberd jutting from his chest. The adrenaline currently pumping through his veins was working overtime, letting him take a few more staggering steps, but the skewered Ratling’s legs finally buckled as he collapsed against the damp floor.
“So this is how it ends,” Skrakch wondered to himself. It was always a risk on any of the adventures he chose to partake in. A strange sort of calm washed over him as he accepted his fate. “Honestly, it could be worse. At least I’ll be dead before one of these filthy things tries to eat me.”
Collapsing onto his side, the unwieldy weapon lodged deep within his chest, keeping him from ending up face down in the sewers' mulch, Skrakch helplessly watched as his opponent strode up to him, hatred and vindictiveness gleaming in its wild eyes. The leader of the Grey Iskrin raised its claws victoriously with a wicked grin, its lust for blood plain to see.
Wincing in pain, Skrakch braced himself for the end, wishing he could flick Meekknuckle ears or call Zach a pompous bastard one last time. As the feral Ratling swung downwards in a lethal swipe, Skrakch closed his eyes and… felt as fine as anyone suffering from a gaping chest wound could feel.
Cracking one eye open, he caught sight of the Feral Iskrin being held up in the air by its skull, a massive, stone-wrought golem clutching the beast in its powerful grip. As Ornn calmly held the frantically squirming creature up, the beautiful bastard of a Golem turned its scowling visage towards a panting Meekknuckle running up beside them.
“Sorry boss, it all go crazy. You wanting to keep vermin?” Meek asked, poking at Skrakch as he lay groaning on his side. Skrakch hissed with pain when the idiotic Goblin poked a little too close to the wound.
“Gods Above or Below, no, kill the fucking lot of them.” He garbled out weakly. If he was going to go down, he sure as hell was going to make sure he took as many of them with him!
With a nod of understanding, Meekknuckle mimed slitting his throat, and Ornn immediately went to work. Grasping the feral rat's head in one massive stone hand, it casually crushed the poor thing's head, gore raining down around Skrakch.
Letting out a small groan, Skrakch and Meek watched as Ornn systematically walked among the now comatose Ratlings, putting them down with quick steps to the neck, or by plunging its hands into their chests.
Coughing up blood, the brown Ratling felt his vision fading. The last thing he thought before passing out was… “Why the fuck didn’t we just send Ornn out in the first place?”