[Center][H3][colour=2F4F4F][b]Gentle[/b][/colour][/h3][/Center][hr]

Gentle brayed in pain, skin burning, eyes watering. What kind of diseased sack of poison was this thing? His hands itched, eager, he felt, to grip a sword pommel. Slide back towards being the monster of his youth, that's all that would achieve, he told himself. He had to keep a grip on the person he was now, even if that person was like to end up troll-food in the next few minutes. 

He stepped backwards, dodging snapping teeth, not so lucky when it came to sharp claws, feeling them peel through the skin of his chest. Felt the wound burn hot, probably infected, no time to worry about that, his feet were slipping from under him. He put a hand to the ground to steady himself, palm gripping on worn wood. His staff, the one the troll had knocked from his hand. It wasn't a sword, but it would do. 

Surging back to his feet he thrusts the staff like a spear, aiming straight for the ugly fucks chest, snarled curses on his lips, heartfelt prayer in his mind. Apollokeos, he intones silently so only she can hear, Goddess of second chances, help me make this one count. 

[i][b]Help me bury this fucker. [/b][/i]