Sylvia kneeled on the cobblestones, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t wound it, not enough to kill it at least. She felt its thick muscle and bone deflect her dagger like it was steel plate. She watched the ogre fall, its massive bulk crashing down from from its extensive wounds. 

[i]I really need a better knife. I don’t want to buy one from the city though, those smiths never sharpen them enough…[/i] 

Among the piles of dead Skaven and Dwarves, she saw an irregularly shiny glint within. She reached in, and felt something metal. A ring. She held it in front of her face, a bronze-shaded circle which she slipped onto her index finger.

Suddenly, she felt more… [i]fleet.[/i] Her heartbeat quickened, her eyes darted here and there, her hands twitched. Whatever the ring was, it seemed to slightly speed up her movements. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it would help. 

Also, among the corpse heap, she managed to scavenge a few gold coins. They would definitely fetch her something back home, maybe another dagger. She saw that the others were making their way into the Dwarven fortress, and she followed them in. 

Her lust for blood was still going strong, despite her near-death experience with the rat ogre. If Grendrick hadn’t intervened, she would have been killed. Painfully. She made a mental note to thank him later, after they got out of the rift. [i]If[/i] they got out of the rift. Even with Siph, a veteran adventurer, Sylvia knew the worst could happen to the best. In her experience, it usually did.

The interior of the Dwarven fort was quite beautiful. Shades of metal she never even knew existed shone before her eyes, and seemingly master-crafted statues and architecture made the whole place have sort of an uncomfortable feel to it, like she was a guest inside a rich man’s house. Everything inside seemed to be out of her reach, out of her understanding. 

Now, however, she heard the sounds of battle: Screams, metal clashing upon metal, and since the Dwarves were here, loud crunches that could only be made by their warhammers. The Dwarf king, who was presumably the one clad in golden armor, rushed out in front of his men, caving in Skaven skulls as he went. 

Sylvia checked her armor. The rings were broken in places, leaving wide exposed gaps where a stray blade could get through. She was faced with a choice: The chainmail was heavy, especially for someone of her size. If she ditched it, she could move much more freely, dodge attacks and whatnot. However, if she got hit by the Skaven, it would most likely be a mortal wound, if not a fatal blow. If she kept the armor, she could take another hit, but after that the armor would just be dead weight. 

[i]
I swear, I am going to kill the man who made that chainmail shirt. If I didn't kill him already...[/i]

She sighed, and removed the chainmail, dropping it to the ground next to her. She could still feel the aching bruises from when that Skaven stabbed her earlier. She breathed short, quick breaths, trying to will the pain away. She drew her knife, blood from earlier Skaven crusting on the blade. 

[i]Come on, you vermin. I’ll draw your blood tenfold before you draw mine.[/i]