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Elsewhere – A place terribly close to the Sky
Minutes. The law of breathing is stern and allows of no exceptions. While one can survive for weeks without food and for days without drink, none can endure more than a handful of minutes without the intake of air into the lungs. Never has he felt so small – to think a life so powerful as his own can be measured out in terms of a few snatches of bitter air drawn hastily into lungs that have begun to burn with the exertion of breathing. The wind has grown in intensity, as if it could sense the nearing of an ending, and there is a hunger about it as it lingers near the throats of man and giant and eagerly snatches away the air they seek to breathe. The exertion of the battle is telling and his gasping lungs find that there is no longer sufficient air for breathing.
Still he attacks without pause, striking violently with the great sword whose humming keeps ominous time to the gusting of the wind and the gasping of his lungs. The venom of the great gorgon has been wasted in the dirt of this barren place, and the deep gouges left by the blade in the soil give silent witness to the frustration of the giant. Still he attacks. The axes of the Hated have cut him deeply, especially that one whose head burns with the silver of lightning, the great enemy of shadow. Still he attacks, shrugging off the pain of his wounds, ignoring the burning of his lungs, and allowing this most clever opponent no time in which to think. It is a desperate gambit, this violent expression of rage, this unrelenting assault which tires himself more than his opponent. Desperate, yes. But not foolish. The Hated is not the only one skilled in battle or capable of expending life for the sake of victory. Let this bitter wind seize his breath. Let the axes cut him and let his blood soak this barren ground. It matters not, for he will strike all the same.
His fury becomes greater, increasing the speed and force of his attacks. The Hated is driven back.
Now!
One well timed blow is followed by another and the Hated has no choice but to leap swiftly to the left where he lands off-balance near the shadows cast by a jagged finger of stone. The aspect of berserk fury leaves the face of the giant, replaced by that of a cold, bitter and unyielding hatred. Panting, he steps himself into the shadow cast by the massing clouds overhead and emerges out of the shadows behind the Hated. Somehow the Hated begins to turn, but the blow is swift, sudden and sure, and its impact brutal.
* Natural 20. *
The hated falls forward, only to be snatched by a hand of terrible strength.
* Natural 20. *
The rage of the giant asserts itself once more and the Hated is flung violently against the jagged stone. As the giant gasps after breath, the body of the Hated crumples limply to the ground and lies still.
Still gasping, his fingers tighten around the hilt of the blade.
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