Part 1
The big orc rarely came into this area of Orgrimmar. It stank, in the first place, and secondly, despite being hardened by many years of ruthless battle and even the ever-present memory of slavery; some of the things that went on here chilled him. This was a place where things went on that were best unspoken, and Groll was uncomfortable even being here. But the flasks he liked were to be acquired from his associate, Doko, who frequented this place almost exclusively if he was to be found in any major city at all.
Thus, Groll found himself stomping through the roughest part of a rough town as the last rays of the sun settled on the horizon. Just the right time, he thought a bit bitterly, for the worst filth to come crawling out of the gutters. He nearly pulled his cloak closer, but recognized that the gesture would betray a sense of trepidation, and to do that here would create a situation where someone would badly misjudge their chances, and get themselves killed. So he simply grunted and continued on his way.
He intended to, anyway. Unfortunately, that wasn't the way it was to work out on this particularly dusty, gray evening. He was alerted to an ensuing fray ahead of him by the sudden bellowing shout of an obviously infuriated troll. Groll's eyebrows lifted towards his thick, coarse hair as he peered through the gloom. Ahead, he saw the slavers' cages. A particularly unsavory, albeit legal trade the trolls indulged in, here in the darkest section of the city the orcs were now forced to share with them. The loophole that allowed it was that the slaves were considered goalers—people who had chosen to indebt themselves despite the possibility of becoming potentially permanently indentured "servants" if they didn't pay it back. Every slave had signed his or her own slave papers at the acceptance of the debt. Groll knew as well as anyone did that the people desperate enough to take these sorts of debts on were rarely the ones who could pay. But that was life, and it wasn't his business. He wanted nothing to do with whatever was going on there, and began to cross the street towards the shadows on the other side.
But this proved to be the exact wrong direction for someone who wanted to avoid the confrontation. Halfway through the street, he felt a sudden burning fire flash across his skin, and realized immediately that he'd been caught in a painful explosion of magic. Another utterance was followed by another flash of agonizing fire against his skin. Scowling, he turned towards the source of it, and saw a slight white figure in the midst of the circling trolls. Chains clattered at her wrists, neck, and ankles—apparently one of the slaves had changed her mind on her contract. He shrugged and turned to leave the area, when a flash in his peripheral vision alerted him just as the slender elf ran past him, breaking for freedom.
Reflexively, he grasped the chain that draped from her neck as it snapped past him. With a sudden jerk, the elf fell against him, and for a stunned instant they stared into each other's eyes. Then he saw her gather up to utter another incantation, and clamped his hand down over her mouth. He really didn't enjoy the pain of burning magic on his skin.
He also found that he didn't enjoy the sudden pain of teeth digging deeply into the flesh of his palm, either. Anger flashed through him, and he slammed his other hand into the side of her head, catching her as she slumped against him. Immediately, she was yanked from his hands, the troll slaver dropping her unceremoniously on the ground by the neck chain. The troll slapped a magic binding across her mouth, silencing her again, and then lifted the vicious lash he held in his hand. At the first snap of it across her skin, the elf snapped awake, disoriented and trying to scream. Blood rose where the lash had fallen, and the troll lifted it to snap it down again.
Surprising himself, Groll stopped the descending whip before it could touch the delicate skin again. The troll protested, his rank breath hitting Groll's sensitive nose like a slap. "I'll needs ta break 'er 'fore any'll buys her," the troll said, his dark eyes glittering oddly in the scarce light.
"She bit me." Groll held up his hand, letting the blood drip to the ground. "I'll buy her, and I'll break her, myself."
The troll's eyes flickered for a moment longer, a calculating look lingering around the edges, before smoothing over. It was clear he would try to get as much as possible for the elf, but Groll had no intention of being taken advantage of. This moment of weakness was going to be over with as quickly as possible, and as cheaply as possible. Whatever had brought the woman to such a place was going to be his problem for as short a time as possible.
The troll led him over to the table where the documents of the slaves in the cages were laid out. "Here's 'ers, mon. We gots ta recovah what she be owin', and den dere be mah fees." The document listed a mere 3,000 gold as her debt price, and the 'fees' that the troll asked for came to little more than 500. Shortly, pointing out how difficult she had been and that few would buy goods damaged by a whip, he had worked the total down to 3200 gold. A small amount of cash for him, really, but wasting it on an elf was irritating in the extreme. He tried not to question why he was even bothering, though he knew it was because she didn't deserve to be beaten while she was tied down and helpless. She never should have signed the documents and borrowed that small an amount of money at the price of being enslaved to begin with. But that didn't mean she should be treated as she had been.
He picked her up, stuffed the papers in his pocket, and threw her over his shoulder, heading off to get his flasks. It was going to be a long night, but he should be able to be rid of her soon enough. The pack that contained "on'y some magic-lookin' clothes she prolly stoled," he simply added to his own for the time being.
As he returned a while later, having simply refused to answer any of Doko's questions, he stopped short of passing the same place. The same troll he'd bought the woman from now stood defensively in front of his stand, three men confronting him in overt anger. Groll's keen ears had overheard something that brought him up short, "I want that elf, Dweelo, and I don't care how you get her. She's worth a hell of a lot more than you got for her, and you had better get her back if you want to live to see your next birthday. You got lazy and let her escape, and sold her off like a cow, when you knew I was coming for her."
Groll nearly groaned out loud. It was likely they were talking about the woman draped, still unconscious, over his shoulder. This was more than he wanted to deal with right now. Ever, really, if he was honest about it. Women and trouble, always together, he thought grimly. He turned and walked away, nearly silent despite his bulk and his burden. He didn't know what it was all about, but it seemed apparent that little about the situation was going to be anything he wanted to be involved with.
It was nearly morning when she finally stirred, groaning across the fire from him. He rolled over and looked at her, watching her take stock of her surroundings and her situation. The green glow of her eyes betrayed her in the waning darkness, even if her pale skin hadn't seemed to glow, itself. The blanket covered all but her slender shoulders and her face, a dark bruise stark on her cheek. Her dark hair spilled out across the blanket and the ground, a wild disarray of abandoned shadow. She was slender, with slight indication of muscle. And he'd noticed, in spite of himself, that her breasts weren't necessarily large, and were shaped rather like raindrops. Her hips curved gracefully and fully out from her slender waist.
Finally her eyes settled on him, and recognition, along with sudden pain as she tried to sit up, flashed across her face. She gasped behind the magical muzzle she still wore. She panted as she tried to deal with the pain, and he stood up in one easy motion. He walked up to her and knelt beside her. "I'll take it off, if you're going to behave yourself and not attack me." She stared at him silently, and he waited. Finally, she looked away, and he reached down and removed it, tossing it away.
Immediately, she muttered softly, and he felt power gathering up around her. He slammed his fist down suddenly against the ground, funneling anger into the blow. A shock of energy snapped out around him, slamming into her as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes widened in pain and surprise. "We can play this game all night. You've no protection from me if I decide to beat you senseless, so please, spare us both a lot of wasted time, and just stop."
Her voice was surprisingly low, soft, and quiet when she spoke. "I am well aware of my vulnerability, sir. I intended only to heal the terrible ache in my head." He blinked, surprised. So she was a priest or a paladin. He figured she must be a paladin, as she seemed a bit too bold for a priest. "May I?" He nodded and sat back.
Power gathered again, and she was bathed in a sparkling glow, relief showing clearly on her face as it moved across her. She sat up, awkward and obviously still in pain. He frowned. "I've little power left, so I guess I'm pretty harmless right now, anyway."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Lady, even at full power, I doubt you would scare me too very much." Her face betrayed a moment of anger, and she looked away.
"It's nearly dawn, but we're being followed, so we're going to get moving," he told her curtly. His earlier scouting had indicated that, despite him turning back, somehow the men in the alley had identified him enough to follow him and this woman, named Tracy Walker according to her papers.
"You can let me go, you know. I'm not who they say I am. I didn't sign those papers," her eyes beseeched him, and for a moment, he almost believed her. His better sense, of course, overtook him.
"How many of your fellow slaves do you think would say the same thing to escape taking responsibility for what they did when they signed such stupid papers?" he almost laughed as he asked it.
She sighed, "All of them, I suppose."
"Exactly. But you want me to believe you, and not them?" A wry look answered him well enough. She knew it was unrealistic, and so did he. Oh, she had signed those papers, all right.
He pulled the mount he'd bought for her over, a massive, dark gray worg. Picking her up, with her arms still tied behind her at the elbows and in front at the wrists (he was no fool, after all), he set her on the worg. Her bare skin was cool under his hands, so he turned and picked up the blanket she'd slept under. As he turned back to her, she was looking away from him, back into the direction of Orgrimmar. The sun shimmered off of her dark hair, making it gleam so that she seemed to have a halo. Fitting, he thought, for a paladin, though more so for a priest. Her skin glowed in the light of the rising sun, even more than it had in the gloom of the nighttime. He was surprised to feel the first stirrings of arousal as he looked at her there, with her legs wrapped around the worg, her hair falling around her, wearing only her underwear.
She looked at him then, and said it again, "You could let me go. They just want me, they don't care about you. They wouldn't bother you any further. But if you don't, they will hunt us both down."
He grinned suddenly. "You're not a very smart elf. You're more scared of a few trolls, than you are of an orc who has you in chains and nearly naked?" He was oddly gratified to see her first go even more white than she was (a feat in and of itself), then flood with color as he wrapped the blanket around her, purposely coming far too close to her crotch to be considered courteous. He had no intentions towards her, really, though he did have the right to do with her as he wished, at this point, legally. Not, of course, that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He was a normal man, after all.
He mounted his own worg, and set off, the beast she rode following willingly behind at a snap of his fingers and a low whistle. They rode across the barrens towards Tanaris, which he hoped to reach within the next couple of days. After several hours of riding, his hand was aching, and he was hot and sweaty and dusty. He decided to stop at one of the small lakes- almost a pond, really- in the area. As they stopped, he picked her up and sat her on the ground. She groaned slightly, and he smirked at her. "Not used to riding, are you." She shook her head. "Shame, someone ought to get you used to it." He wasn't sure why he was baiting her so much, he really wanted to be quit of her, but he wasn't going to just throw her to the two-legged worgen that followed them still. He enjoyed the blush that she rewarded him with yet again, and began stripping for his bath.
He reached down and untied her. "Don't try it. Remember that I own you, and if you try to run off, and I beat you near death, no one will stop me." He stared at her intensely, making sure she realized he was quite serious. Not that he was, but it was necessary that she believe him, so he could get on his way peacefully. "Now, get up. You stink and you need a bath, too."
He slipped his greaves and his breeches off, enjoying the relief of being freed from the heavy armor. His red eyes watched her as she stood up, a bit slowly and painfully. A single spell later, and she walked towards the water with apparent comfort and ease. "So you're a paladin, are you?" he asked.
"I'm a priest," she said. Her low, sultry voice carried back to him like a falling leaf on the lightest of breezes. He followed her towards the water, oddly pleased by the revelation. A priest, indeed. He watched her hips sway unconsciously as she walked, and hoped he made it into the water before his attention was aroused in a more noticeable way. Once in the water, he doused the soap he held into the water, but winced as it touched the bite wound on his hand, which had reopened from the ride.
"You did this," he said suddenly, "you fix it." He held it out to her, anger rising in him. She'd actually bitten him! And not gently, but hard enough to make him bleed rather profusely. He looked at her, expecting a protest.
That was not, however, what he saw. She had taken off her underwear, and stood naked in the water. Instead of cleaning herself, though, she had stopped and was staring at him. His eyebrows rose as he looked at her. She was staring openly at his body, her eyes traveling across his chest. Her expression was oddly entranced, as a bird looking at something shiny it has found and hopes to steal. It was a look that he was very familiar with, but which he hadn't experienced turned upon himself before by any but an orc woman. He watched her look at him for a moment and stepped towards her.
Her eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. "I… what? I'm sorry, what did you say?" red flooded her face once again. Immediately, his body responded to her appraisal and her obvious embarrassment.
He stepped closer again, until he was standing mere inches from her. He held his hand out to her. "Fix it, priest." She blinked at the hand for a moment, and then began to cast.
It wasn't the first time, by many thousands of times, that he'd ever been Healed. It was, however, the first time it had felt so incredibly sensual, so incredibly erotic. It was as if her desire for him had translated into the magic she cast, the lust he'd seen in her face before she'd realized he'd seen it finding its outlet in the magic she cast. He felt it caress across his entire body, even whispering like a warm breath across his groin.
He groaned as he became immediately and almost painfully hard. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her against him. Water splashed around them, lapping against his chest, licking around her breasts like an eager puppy. He watched the light glitter off of those gleaming breasts, and couldn't stop himself. He lifted her and pulled her even closer, mindful of his tusks, as he licked the water off of one pink nipple.
He felt her resistance, but he didn't care. He grabbed her head, and held her still, gripping her hair in one powerful hand. "You're mine now, in case you've forgotten. I can do as I wish with you." His voice was harsh and graveled from his lust. He pulled her down then, positioning her against his erection. With a sudden, sharp thrust, he was inside her, the water buoying them slightly as he entered her. She uttered a sharp cry, her body jerking slightly. He thrust again, lost in the incredible feeling of her tightness around him. She twisted again, pushing against him, and he crushed her harder against him with one arm, reaching down to shift her butt, giving him a better angle to thrust more fully and deeply into her. He pushed her against the stone she'd been using a moment before to lean against, and thrust into her again and again. He buried his face against her neck, tasting dust, and water, and soft skin.
Water sloshed around them, and he felt her legs around him, her arms crushed between them. The soft sound of her breathing was fast but deep, driving his lust to higher levels. He fought to restrain himself as he drove into her, feeling her soft folds separating as he slipped into them again and again. He knew his strength could injure her, but he was so intensely aroused by her that it took every ounce of control he had not to drive her too hard against the stone. Finally, he felt his orgasm building, and with one last grunt, he thrust into her yet again. As he released inside her, a growl started low in his throat and escaped just as he reached the peak of his orgasm.
He leaned back, his intensity beginning to fade in the aftermath of the powerful release he'd found within her. He looked at her, and found her looking down and away from him. Slowly, it began to dawn on him that he had just raped her. That he'd treated her like a slave that he'd bought and paid for. He had dishonored himself, and her. And he should be sorry. He should be very sorry, in fact. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to be sorry. But even as he felt himself beginning to slowly soften inside of her, he knew he wanted to do it again more than he wanted to be sorry.
He decided, though, then and there, that he wouldn't. He wouldn't do it again, to any woman, ever. No matter how much he wanted to. And he did want to. He felt silken hair brush across his arm under the water, and he pulled her close to him. She lay against him, passive, quiet, not responding and not resisting. He tried several times to apologize, but couldn't. He struggled to get his emotions under control. He was an orc; he wasn't supposed to feel like this. The warm, even tender feeling that suffused him shouldn't be there. He had enjoyed the company of many women in his life; it should be simple to walk away from this one. Except that now he not only owned her, he also owed her.
As he felt himself slip out of her, he moved away from the stone he'd backed her against for stability, and lifted her off of him by the waist. Silently, he handed her the soap, and got out of the water. When he looked back, she was quietly washing herself, still not looking at him. When she was finished, she walked out of the water, gathering her underwear and putting it back on. He silently handed her the bag of clothes. Having put on his own armor again already, he waited in silence while she dressed, pulling the robe over her head and letting it slip down to hug the curves he still wanted to touch and caress.
He brought the worg to her, and she mounted in obedient silence. Her eyes avoided his, but he felt her tremble as he helped her up. He felt himself stir at the knowledge that she was trembling still from having him inside her, and he gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the surging desire that should not have returned so soon. He stalked over to his own worg, mounting smoothly. They set off, with him watching behind them at regular intervals. The trio behind had made up a lot of ground during the time he'd stopped and allowed himself to be distracted by pale skin and dark hair.
He decided to find out, once and for all, why they were being followed. "Tracy?" She didn't answer, obviously lost in thought. "Tracy?" He repeated it, sharper, louder. She ignored him. Suddenly angry, he rode closer to her, until their legs nearly touched. "Tracy!" he snapped. She looked up and blinked at him stupidly. Irritation swelled, "What the hell is the matter with you? I've called you three times now!"
"My name," she said coolly, stressing the word 'name' sharply, "is Shantille. Perhaps if you called me by my name, I would be quicker to respond to you." The look on her face was colder than the Borean Tundra at night.
Now it was his turn to blink stupidly. Then his confusion cleared. Of course she would make up something that would dispute what the papers said. He might do the same in her circumstances. "Yes, I'm sure, Tracy Walker. And I'm sure that no other slave has ever made up a name when they have new owners." He chuckled at her.
To his surprise, though, she threw her head back suddenly and laughed. It carried easily over the padding of their mounts' feet, a surprisingly clear and elegantly cheerful sound. Her eyes glowed a deeper green as she looked back at him. "A human name, orc? Are you an imbecile? Do you really believe that we name our children human names?" She shook her head with another chuckle, then dismissed him as surely as he had ever been dismissed, her attention passing away from him and back to the small metal bar she held in her hands.
They rode in silence for a moment as his mind churned. It really did sound like a human name. It was a very human name, in fact, and the humans in particular seemed to get themselves into these foolish slave agreements often. And the woman across from him seemed very unlikely to have needed such an agreement. She seemed self-assured, her posture elegant even for an elf, her face calm and clear despite what should be truly harrowing events over the past few days. Her hands were steady even as they rode, and the robe she wore bore high magic sigils, too powerful to be worn by any but the most accomplished of magic-users. It was the first time he had studied her closely, and a sick feeling began to settle into his gut. Falsified papers, she had probably been kidnapped. It wasn't unlikely, the more he studied her and the situation.
Lost in his thoughts, he studied her more closely as they rode. Her face had the same angularity that all elves shared, but hers was softer than most, her lips small, delicate, and dark in her pale face. The dark brown hair that fell to her waist was touched with glimmers of red in the sunlight, and dark, long lashes surrounded her eyes. The long eyebrows that flickered, feather-like, from her forehead were not as dark as the hair on her head, and her ears were long and pointed as all blood elves' were. She wore large hoops of gold, and he wondered for a moment why the slavers hadn't removed them, as well. Then he realized she had taken them from a pocket of her gown. It occurred to him that she must have been sleeping when she was taken.
The thought brought him back to the idea that she had been kidnapped. Some things had begun to make sense to him. Perhaps the slavers that were employed to capture her had sold her when those who had commissioned them were late to arrive to acquire her? Given the events of the previous evening, he had no doubt that she had given them no end of trouble. He chuckled, trouble and women, always together. She glanced up at him when he chuckled, and he met her eyes with a smirk.
But the problem with all of this was, he didn't know for sure. He didn't know any of it for sure. Then he thought sourly of the money that he'd spent already on this misadventure. Although he could afford it, it really was a significant amount of money. And for what? He grimaced then, realizing exactly what he had bought. He'd bought a kidnapped woman and raped her. He slammed his fist hard against his leg, what had he been thinking? The plate armor clanged in the relative quiet of their journey, and he heard her gasp.
Her response startled him from his reverie, and he realized immediately his error. Like a foolish recruit, he had lost track of the enemy. He reached out and grabbed the reins of her mount, jerking his own to a halt, as well. His sharp eyes studied the terrain, finding no rising dust that would indicate pursuit. No small figures in the distance that he could make out as anything besides wildlife or trees. Turning abruptly, his sword seemed to naturally appear in his hand, so accustomed was he to the gesture that brought it forth from the scabbard. The shield seemed to leap just as naturally into his other hand. He was dismounted before it was even withdrawn, eyes seeking, ears straining to hear any sound that would betray their pursuers.
She dropped quietly to the ground, as well, moving towards him. It was clear that his wariness had translated itself to her, and she appeared as guarded as he was. A soft glow of magic surrounded her suddenly, with only the slightest gesture of her fingers. Moments passed, and silence hung over them, accompanied only by the dust they'd raised, which swirled lazily in the afternoon stillness. Heat waves shimmered, distorting the landscape around them. Their breathing was loud, magnified by the silent placidity of the area.
He expected them to simply come take what they wanted, to try to kill him and take her from him that way. Instead, they stepped out of the shadows of the trees and bushes, one at a time. Three of them, all stooped and gnarled. The first unconsciously tapped on his left tusk with a finger. The second was the bluest troll he'd seen in a very long time, and the third was smaller, nervous, almost rabbity. They eased out of the shadows, Tappy standing nearest.
"We'll be takin' da woman now, mon," Tappy said, apparently the leader of the three. Groll studied Tappy's clothing, trying to find something that would betray their purpose or their background. There was nothing, he seemed simply an ordinary troll.
"I bought her, she belongs to me," Groll said. "If you be takin' her, you'll be stealing."
"We pays you well, mon. More'n ye be payin' fer her," Tappy pulled a coin purse out, and it was clear it held quite a bit more than Groll had paid for her. Tappy tossed it to Rabbity, who plucked it from the air, scampering forward slightly towards Groll.
Groll's sword swung towards Rabbity, an unconscious gesture, and the troll stopped. "I'm not finished with her," Groll said, "and I won't be selling her until I am."
"Well, mon, then we be takin' 'er, if ye be givin' us no othuh choices." The three trolls drew weapons, and started to circle. The sound of the woman's magical shield renewing tinkled behind him, closer now, but not so close that it would interfere with the battle. He was pleased to know she wasn't taking the opportunity to run. It was very unlikely that she would get very far, anyway.
It started very simply, really. Blue rushed him, and the force of his charge left Groll stunned for a second. With a 'thwap thwap,' Tappy planted twisted-looking, gnarled totems into the loose sand. Out of the corner of his eye, Groll saw a flash of magic, and the first of the totems was incinerated with a golden glow of holy magic. The elf was eliminating them, and Groll grinned grimly. She at least had the good sense to know that, whatever fate these trolls intended for her, it was probably far worse than the worst he'd done to her.
Groll parried a thrust from Blue, slamming his shield hard against Blue's sword arm, causing him to stumble and pause. Seeing Rabbity trying to sneak behind him, Groll channeled the force of his anger into his powerful legs, and slammed down onto the ground with his full force. The shockwave drove out from him, stunning all three of their attackers. Interestingly enough, he vaguely noticed that the elf had unconsciously attuned herself to him, and didn't even notice the energy as it snapped past her.
As the first healing wave carried across Blue, Groll decided it was time to eliminate Tappy. With a roar, he charged into Tappy, slamming him hard against the tree he was standing in front of. The groaning thud of his body as it struck was gratifying and filled Groll with a twisted sort of pleasure.
He recognized the new incantation the elf chanted, and knew that soon the shaman would run out of stored Power as she turned his own power against him, burning him, consuming him with it. The shaman stumbled forwards towards Groll as the spell hit him, but rallied quickly. Lightning crackled, and Groll felt it flash across his skin painfully, Tappy's spell pulled energy from the environment to burn into skin and muscle. Parrying just in time as Blue's sword attempted to bite through his leg armor, Groll slammed his shield against Tappy, driving him to his knees and interrupting the painful lightning that ate at Groll's body and concentration. He felt searing agony as Rabbity found enough of an opening in his armor to sink a dagger painfully into the flesh of his shoulder.
With a wrench, he freed himself from it, and turned upon Rabbity with a frenzied rage. His shield lifted, describing a slow, nearly leisurely arc through the air before it struck Rabbity full in the chest, the crunching of bone and the abrupt exhalation of air reward enough for Groll for the moment as Rabbity staggered backwards, his eyes staring, startled, into Groll's for an instant.
Content that it would take a moment for the rogue to recover, Groll returned to the important business of dispatching Tappy, his arm and shoulder burning still from the deep dagger wound. Unexpectedly, he felt the Healing. It was not the same feeling as before, it was a familiar feeling. The magic washed over him, and the pain in his shoulder was gone, the bruise on his leg magically soothed and then forgotten. This battle seemed less impossible suddenly, and a surge of glee flickered through him. He threw his head back, and roared his delight to the heavens. This, he thought then, is going to be fun. He had an ally in the elf, for however long. And thus he could simply enjoy the feeling of his weapon against flesh, enjoy the power of his body, and feel the joy of communing with shield and weapon and armor.
His shout had demoralized them, and he knew it. Rabbity, to his surprise, turned and took off. He threw a knife at the retreating back, and saw Rabbity stumble, but keep going. Ducking Blue's wild swing, he drove his sword into the chest of the shaman, the leather not able to stop it. Groll watched impassively as blood spilled out of Tappy's mouth, and he slumped forward. With a jerk that ground against bone and brought flesh tearing away with it, Groll freed the sword just in time to stop the blow intended for his head.
Now it was just he and Blue, and the pulsing of magic that soothed his muscles every few seconds. Filled now with confidence, even arrogance, Groll slammed his shield hard against Blue's, and was gratified to hear the snapping of bones. The troll's shield now dangled uselessly, and Groll pushed his advantage. With a powerful twist, he slipped his sword towards the vulnerable underarm of the troll. He was displeased when the troll managed to parry the blow, their weapons sparking off of each other. But the parry left the troll open, only for an instant.
An instant was all Groll needed. He used his shield like a weapon, bringing that up under the troll's arm, instead. The shoulder snapped with a sickening crunch, and Groll's sword flashed up over the ruined shoulder, nearly severing the troll's head from his body. Slowly, so slowly, Blue toppled forward, blood damping the ground he landed on before he even reached it.