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His neck stretched…and stretched…and stretched. His eyes passed over emaciation, oily, dead leather skin, interspersed with thatches of vagrant mange and sullen black feathers. The feet in the back were taloned more wickedly than what would ever be necessary for killing. Their purpose was to rend, abjectly. The feet in the front were spiked mallets larger round than he was tall by a heady margin. The horrible face with its eyes and protruding, ugly malformations and keratin blade.
He took a step back, the thing repeated its croak. It raised itself up, and came down faster than the winter wind. Kule’s arms were moving but it was too late, already too late. His legs were moving, but too late, he watched as it came down toward him.
The sound was so loud in the night. Thunder. Blood splattered the boy but he couldn’t feel the wound. First the thunder, then the obscene screeching of this thing, it was all so loud. He blinked. It didn’t hurt, he wondered why. His unfocused eyes took in everything around him, the dark trees, the moonlight, the snow, the rushing blur, the screeching thing, the two corpses by his feat. The rushing blur?
“Unc-?”
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A second cartridge, a second shot, this one hits uselessly on those enormous hammer feet. You prime the third cartridge in the breech. Talons-on-the-Tree is almost too fast for you to see as he picks up Kule, they both barely avoid a second stab from the thing’s beak down into the snow. Talons-on-the-Tree tosses Kule off to the side, readies his knife, and stalks behind it. You cock the hammer on your rifle. There’s killing to be done.
Roll me 3d100 for a general combat check to start things off.
Also, you may describe a strategy for your approach to this thing and if it makes a decent amount of sense I might be inclined to give you a roll bonus.
>Roll 3d100
