Lorenzo grunted as his knees hit the floor causing blood to ooze from between his broken teeth.
Well this is fucking terrible. He thought to himself as he glared at the veritable monument of regret in front of him.
Every decision he'd made over the last few months, hiring Keg, screwing her over, letting her live, kidnapping that trio near Hupperdook, killing that fucking tiefling, letting his friends live, it had all come back to bite him in the ass.
I can think of worse ways to go out. He thought as he watched the ragtag group of chuckle-fucks that had managed to finally beat him. Two of them, some weird ass firbolg he'd never seen and that annoying tiefling chick they'd grabbed were doling out potions, healing spells to their wounded comrades. Over to one side the half-breed and the Aasimar bitch cleaning his blood of their respective weapons while that fucking firebug and his green skin pet rambled on about shit he neither heard nor cared about. It was almost enough to make him wish he friends.
Not my style. He thought as he drove the idea from his mind. Friends were for people too stupid to realize how the world really worked. Still, it would've been nice to have a few extra hands around when shit hit the fan.
No use worrying about it now. He thought as his attention went back to chuckle-fucks,
What was their name again, the nighty something? Ah, who the fuck cares? He asked himself as noticed the butch one with the stick heading in his direction.
The fuck does she want? He thought to himself as he focused his one good eye.
She was covered with cuts and bruises that he instantly recognized as Protto's handiwork.
At least that lousy fuck got in a few good likes before going down. He thought as an image of the halfling popped into his mind.
That's when he finally saw it, the ridiculous golden sword clutched in the butch one's bloodied hands. It was the kind of sword you'd see some rich, high born fuck wearing to impress their friends. The kind of sword that would probably break if you ever even looked at it wrong. The kind of sword no sane man had would every wield. And that's when it hit him. He'd seen that blade before. Hell, he'd watched it fall with its master back on the Glory Run Road and now here it was.
And now it was here. Resting in the hand of his friend while she loomed over him like an executioner.
So that's her plan, nice. He thought as he stared into her eyes, soaking up every ounce of hatred and disdain that came pouring out of them.
"Respect." He said an instant before the sword danced across his throat, opening his veins and sending a river of crimson pouring down his ruined chest.
"Fuck you Lorenzo."
