Horace Lannagan | Cowfallow Bridge
Horace was in shock. The blood. The screaming. The death. But he had a plan. Horace took out one of his gas tubes, In latched it, and threw it. It spun around gas unleashing on the bridge, making a cloud for Horace. Horace had his eye on two green-skins before the smoke was completely shrouding them.
His hatchet was out, ready to strike them. The cloud of smoke, was slowly clearing up, and he needed to act fast. He kept walking, with his hands out, until his hand felt steel. He raised his axe, and slammed down. A roar of pain, rumbled in Horace's ears, as he felt the hatchet sink into the Orcs skull. He dropped another smoke canister, once again giving him cover. He put his foot on the lifeless Orc, and used all his strength to remove his hatchet from the Orc's mutilated face.
He looked over at the second Orc, only seeing him since the smoke cleared. He was over one of his fellow farmhands, ready to strike. He couldn't let this happen. He ran to the Orc silently. He raised his hatchet and struck down on the Orc, hearing the snap of its neck vertebrae, and feeling it revibrate through his hatchet. The Orc fell were he stood. Horace moved over to the farmhand and helped him get up.
"That was a close one. Here take this." He handed the farmhand the cleaver, and turned around, screaming, as a gash was made in the middle of his chest. It wasn't to deep, but it was enough to hurt like hell. He put his hand over his chest, feeling the blood trickle on it. He regained his stance, ready in front of two Orcs. He shook off most of the pain, ready to fight.
"Ready?" He asked the other farmhand.
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