Waterfront Park-Portland, OR
Colin and Greyden leapt aside from the heavy blow as it thudded hard enough into the grass that they felt the impact.
“What the hell man!” Greyden yelled, trying to swing his blade, “What the hell?”
Colin frowned as well as he tried to lift his shield and his weapon, only to find that they weighed far more than what they had when he’d first stepped on the battlefield. His shield, his sword, and his armor all felt heavier. He stood up, somehow, and saw as Greyden came back to his senses as well, raising up to swing his own weapon, a two-handed greatsword, at the slobbering ogre that had swung at them. Looking down at the heavy, gnarled club that had almost struck them, Colin frowned again as he saw the realism in it, and then he looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the knotted, hardened cords of muscle that adorned the figure in front of them.
“What the f-?”
That was as far as he got before Greyden’s weapon bit hard into the ogre’s neck, nearly severing it as the beast staggered, raising one of its monstrous, clawed hands to its throat. It didn’t help as blood that looked black as tar spurted from between its fingers. With a single burble of black blood that spilled from its lips, the creature fell to its right, its head flopping grotesquely as it hit the ground.
“Whoa! Whoa! What the hell?!! What the hell?!! Dude!! I just, dude! I just cut that guy’s head off! Colin, what the shit man?! I just, I just…”
That was when the screaming began, and Colin turned around to see what was happening across the rest of the battlefield.
(to be continued)