The smell of burning decayed flesh was overbearing. Under other circumstances, one of the group would have made light of the fact that it smelt so bad, not even Tumbor would consider it food. Instead they were too busy trying to avoid its haphazardly flailing arms.
Yulien seemed transfixed, gazing into its lifeless eyes. It was if she found empathy with the creature. Letting out a long, deep groan it slumped down onto it’s knees and held gaze with the cleric. She nodded slowly.
Tumbor, feeling rage coursing through his veins, charged the prone beast. Swinging hard, he brought the blade of the woodcutter’s axe hard down upon the back of its neck. It stopped midway, unable to cleave through the bone.
“Curse this inferior workmanship!” he moaned placing a boot between the dead Troll’s shoulders, and pulling his axe free.
Jax approached Yulien, curious as to the tears that fell softly down her cheek.
“Your brother needs you. Why do you weep for this abhorrent creature?”
“It looked at me as death was about to take it, and said thank you.”
He led her away from the grotesque scene of a cursing Tumbor hacking the head from its shoulders, to Fraevon and Melvin tending to her unconscious brother.
“When Tumbor’s finished,” said Jax loudly so the dwarf heard him. “I suggest we make camp here so as to refocus our plans.”
Fraevon set about finding fuel for a fire, whilst Melvin and Jax began constructing a makeshift shelter from the rain. Yulien sat by her brother’s side opting to let him regain consciousness naturally rather than using her magic.
Tumbor continued chopping the neck as if it were a giant oak.