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As the elf's blade swings wide, Nolg's kukri lunges toward the paladin's face. Nolg's cry of victory is cut short, however, and his weapon clatters to the floor. Biter's greatsword protrudes from his midsection, cut nearly in twain. His eyes raise back to the paladin's face, now adorned with greenish blood and viscera. I hadd... you, elf-thin... Nolg collapses to the floor with two distinct thumps.
Praxim swings wide of his target, but with lighting speed, he slices across Nolg's midsection with a second backhand attack. Nolg takes a brutal hit from the paladin's swing, but appears to still have fire in him - more so than his elven opponent.
The goblin's sword whips by Nolg's face, the wind of it's passing whispers in his ears. Without his weapon this will only become more difficult. There is no choice...
His sword lashes out to disarm the three-quarter-orc of his kukri. Nolg will get an AoO.
As Praxim lunges in to strike, Nolg slashes at the paladin, drawing blood just as his kukri is knocked from his grip, clattering to the floor.
The goblin's blade falls upon Nolg, rending through his armor, and leaving a bloody gash. Nolg cries out in pain, and retaliates against the little green death machine.
Nolg's blade flies wide, and he lets out another terrible cry of frustration.
Seeing the goblin stumble before him, Nolg takes the opportunity to strike. "DIE, you little runt!" Nolg swings his kukri at Biter's head...
...and misses the goblin by mere inches.
"So be it, coward ooman-things! It will take all of you to stand against me! Raaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwrrrrrrr!"
"Orc is wanting to be re-thinking what orc is doing. Orc is putting down the Mors… now." "Put the man down slowly. I shan't repeat myself, lout." A deep rumble builds in Nolg's chest, building from a sinister chuckle into a deafening bellow. Mwaaaaahh hhhaaaaahhhh haahhhhhh! INSECTS!" He then throws Mors directly at the human woman, and draws his kukri as he spins to face the goblin. Time to go squish, little bug!
Mors returns with a large leather wineskin and a pale lumpy bowl, which he places before Nolg. Nolg spits out his grog with a loud harumph. He grabs Mors roughly by the collar and lifts him off the ground, so they are eye to beady eye. "You call this blood grog, ooman? I will not be insulted with this swill! I will have proper blood grog if I have to snap your bones and boil the marrow myself!"
Just when everything seems to be calming down, a towering half-orc lumbers in, in a hodgepodge of scavenged cloth and hide armor, and a jagged, wicked-looking kukri at his belt. He sports a necklace made of herdsmans wire, the barbs dulled and weathered, and threading a grim adornment of shriveled leather shapes that may have once been ears. Most have the standard rounded shape, but a few bear the telltale points of elven trait. His beady black eyes and greenish brown skin leave no question of dominant orcish heritage, softened slightly by the suggestion of a human ancestor, perhaps a few generations distant. He stops abruptly; it was apparent that he was not expecting a mostly-human crowd. He pauses for the briefest of moments, as if to turn back the way he came, but instead he looks around the room menacingly and takes a distinctive sniff of the air. He shudders with a grimace, but walks up to the bar with an air of challenging superiority, roughly bumping into Thomdril and Praxim, who in turn is knocked into Biter. Locking his beady eyes onto Mors, behind the bar, he bellows, "Blood Grog, ooman!" |
