“I
don’t like killing.”
A
craggy old sorcerer in black robes.
“But
I’ve lost count.”
His bony
hands crack tightening on his staff
-Glemantrious “The Glamour Trip”
I knew this
Giant called Sir Opus the Boat Slayer. Drafted to fight in the
pits of hell. Against his will like so many others. He is one
of the few that did well. In that I mean he survived. I
think that’s why I remember him.
Coming out of the pits with some treasure he decides to throw a keg
party on the docks. Everyone is invited. In the process
of setting up for the event he is approached by the Dwarven secret
police. They want protection money. He refuses.
That night while the revelry is in full
swing an iron ship surfaces in the lake. Dwarves scramble out
onto the deck and swivel a cannon around. The crowd starts
running and Opus just stands there crestfallen. They are
shelling his keg party.
The dock erupts
in fire a couple of times but he just stands there. The crowd
has gotten clear of the docks and now they just watch him. He
raises his hands and casts a magic fist. Generally a pitiful
spell.
He puts all
the strength he can into it and makes one of those miraculous hits.
One of those hits that only happen one in four hundred times.
The magic fist punched a hole in the iron boat two feet below the
water line and it sank. The crowd went wild and the party
continued. By the dawn everyone was calling him “Boat
Slayer”.