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Thread: [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight

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    Titan in the Playground
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    Nov 2009

    Default Re: [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight

    Dropping lithely over the side of the cart, Ithelus landed cat-like in the mud of the road, the still-shrieking Ungor rolling out from under his descending boots – scrambling upright, it held its spearpoint out between itself and its attacker, suddenly much warier of its prey.

    There was a terrified yell of “Help!” from somewhere behind them – both combatants looked round to see Jurgen running down the road, heading away from the caravan as fast as his legs could carry him. Its stomach rumbling, the Ungor shot one last craven glance at Ithelus before turning and bounding after the man – the Elf lunged at the fleeing beast, the blade of his sickle hooking across the back of the thing’s bestial leg. Muscle parted beneath metal, the sickle’s edge tearing across bone – the creature collapsed with a hideous howl, blood fountaining from the wound as it rolled and thrashed in the dirt. Within seconds, its movements had stilled, its corpse still twitching slightly as the blood pumping from its mangled leg turned the mud of the road red.

    To Ithelus’ left, the Bestigor howled as Seth’s spear stabbed into its shoulder, piercing its rusted mail again – blood running from its wounds, it swung its cumbrous weapon in attempted retribution, the squire’s horse prancing back out of the path of the blow. Backed against the trapped carthorses, Lothar huddled behind his shield, his assailant’s blows clattering from the scarred metal – the soldier flicked his head in frustration, trying to clear the dripping blood from his eyes once again.

    On the other side of the road, the victim of Raffy’s first shot had hauled itself to its hooves – with a hungry snarl, it gripped the edge of the driver’s seat, heaving itself up onto the grubby planks. Seeing his chance, Hans lunged – the monster saw him coming, ducking under the dagger’s wild swing and propelling itself forwards with horns lowered. The coachman gave an agonised scream as the curved spikes of bone gouged into his gut, blood drenching his tunic – just barely keeping his feet, he staggered back, clutching the edge of the cart with one hand as he held out his dagger towards the beast with the other. Braying in triumph, the beastman advanced on the wounded man, the penned horses behind it tossing their heads and rearing in terror at its presence...
    Last edited by LCP; 2009-12-10 at 05:28 PM.