Arc 7: Chapter 22: The Burning of Tol
The ogre stared down at the armored figures lining the walls, an almost curious manner to its attention. Its skin had a smoky quality, like it were only half solid, its shoulders broad and its small head vanishing into a mound of muscle, a stripe of hackle-like fur running from between its brows down its curled back. It had to have been more than twenty-five feet tall, yet it perched on the relatively narrow wall with an easy balance.
The shock of the moment passed abruptly as a daydream. The Storm Ogre opened its maw, revealing a crackling light behind wolfish teeth. Its growl was the low rumble of thunderclouds.
It’s about to shout. I remembered when these things had fallen on Garihelm in the late spring. They could release a howl so loud it acted like a shockwave, shattering buildings and bursting eardrums. At this close proximity, it would probably kill or incapacitate everyone on the wall.
I moved. Many of the sconces on the wall had gone out, creating plenty of shadow. I pulled out my crossbow and fired it mid-stride. The bolt of blessed gold flew like a spear of fire. Storm Ogres are earthly spirits, not demons, and sanctified metal isn’t their bane in the same way. But it does channel aura very well, and my shot struck the beast with the force of a warhammer. Its gathering power faltered and it reared back, snarling.
My distraction gave others time to act. Cyril barked an order, and some of the archers started to fire. Not all, though. More than a few had died when the thing fell, and the noise of the storm above drowned out the commander’s voice. The ogre barely registered the darts flying into it.
I loaded another bolt from the quiver on my belt. They were small and easy to carry, but I only had a little over a dozen of them. I slotted it in, cranked the string back with a grunt, lifted to shoot—
Sickly yellow lightning crackled around the ogre’s arm as it swept out in a backhanded blow. It hit one of the sentry towers, shattering it, and debris cascaded across the wall. A piece of stone hit me in the chest, knocking me down, and soldiers screamed as they flew through the air.
I got to one knee, shaking off the disorientation. My armor had taken the blow, but a small dent now marred my breastplate.
I let the crossbow sink back into the Dead Roads, then reached into the rubble and pulled my axe out of that same realm, lifting it free in billowing tongues of miasmic darkness. I lifted it high, brandishing it for all to see, and the ogre’s werelight eyes fixed on me.
“You see this?” I snarled. “This has taken worse than you.”
The ogre hunched low, growling at me like a wolf. It was enormous, mighty as a lesser god, but it could be killed. I’d done it before.