>>6093347>>6094817>>6097748>Slice his head, forget about the tits; they are not your problem. Let them be contained in the gut for eternity.His arm surrounds your leg, like an swollen serpent. Desperate to not leg you go he tugs his forearm -- throwing you off balance; desireful for another chance to have you lie down in his presence, hungry to surround you with his eternal corpulence.
Your boot lands ireful on his face. Any jiggle that could have occurred was drowned in the bluntness of the impact. The arms rise, holding the machete impatiently -- because violence waits for no one. You feel gravity tugging you against the core of the world, but you are indifferent -- your arms aggressively tackle forward, defying the imminent impact of your body in order to land on the bloated face first..
And they succeed. Your fall is absorbed by the impact of the blade, and softly you land on your back as if the split head of The Lard refused to let you land heavily on hard soil.
Blood and meats fly, not knowing whether they should have been sliced by the edge, or scattered by a blunt impact.
As you fall, and the dusts lift, you finally see the lards of his back jiggle in ire, wrathful to be contained, wanting to explode through any orifice, in a fountain of liquids.
<span class="mu-r"> <span class="mu-s"> - IRE OF LAS GRASAS </span> – Bonus lost. </span>
You feel really tired all of sudden. Victory is salty and greasy -- you can feel some of the corpse fluid's flavours in your mouth. What a mess.
<span class="mu-s"> [CHOICES] </span>
>Run. >Stay and kill these dogs. <span class="mu-r"> <span class="mu-s"> [Roll 1d30 for Willpower and Violent drive – "No fucking way" ] </span> </span> <span class="mu-r"> <span class="mu-s"> Note: Ill hide roll numbers and simply use a vague description instead -- that way you cant chicken out. </span> </span>
