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The arrowhead in Rychus’ thigh burned as though the bastard Mardor had soaked it in pepper oils before they attacked, and it was costing him a full stride’s pace every ten steps. Not to mention the blood he was leaving on the ferns for them to track him, which he did not have the time to stop and staunch. Not with their hunting cats close enough to hear growling behind him. This never would have happened if Olav did not turn tail and run. That woodsman was supposed to look out for any problems along the way back to Temple—like orc ambushes for instance! Rychus’ mother always said never trust a Faldor, and she apparently was right. That bastard ran at the first whip of an arrow. Now he was wounded, slightly hobbled, possibly poisoned, and lost in a brush valley without a guide. This could not go worse for an Imperial messenger. “Oh, b***ks,” Rychus sighed as the underbrush exploded next to him in a mass of mottled grey fur and sharp claws. The Mardor hunting cat hissed furiously as it spun to face him. These things were known for their efficiency, able to kill full-grown men in seconds. As it coiled its sinuous legs beneath it and opened its fang-filled jaws for a pounce, Rychus drew his dagger and held it between them—if it was going to have a snack of him, at least he would be hard to swallow! The beast leapt and Rychus slammed his eyes shut with fear. He felt the beast collide with him, and he collapsed to the ground. The impact was awkward, and he never felt claws nor teeth—just an oozing wetness. There was a warm stickiness on his arms and chest, and he could smell blood. From the lack of searing pain it must not have been his own, so he slowly opened his eyes (…)....
Verlag: Spartans Unleashed
Artikelgruppe: Sourcebook
Ausführung: Softcover
Verfügbarkeitsstatus: Sofort lieferbar
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