The troll strolled casually northward along the beach outside Sen’jin Village, the noonday sun warming his pale blue skin. He knew it wasn’t exactly the safest stretch of beach, but he needed the walk. He remained focused on relaxing and easing his breathing, although he also remained casually alert to his surroundings, as the Makura tribe that lived immediately off the beach in the waters between Sen’jin and the Echo Isles did tend to get a bit territorial about what they considered "theirs". The troll sighed, considering it an amazing feat that the Darkspear Trolls had managed to carve out a few acres of almost-but-not-quite safety for themselves between the Makura and the equally territorial Centaurs further inland over the last several years.
Almost on cue, a member of the Makura came ashore with all kinds of clattering of legs, and clacking of pincers, the Makura’s stalked eyes protruding out of it’s red lobstery shell, locked onto the troll intent on driving him off…or perhaps seizing him, dragging him under the waves to a drown in a watery death.
The troll reached to his belt for the small knife he’d had the foresight to bring, and readied it to defend himself, knowing it was a fight he was likely to lose. He eyed the Makura’s eyestalks, trying to figure out just how to avoid the chitinous legs and powerful pincers to get at the soft flesh where the eyestalks protruded from the body of the creature…without losing a limb in the process. The knife wouldn’t be much good anywhere else, he suspected.
The Makura lunged at him, the troll dived and rolled onto his left shoulder, coming up with the knife thrusting toward the belly of his crustaceous opponent, the slender blade penetrating a thinner portion of the shell near a leg-joint…where it lodged. The troll cursed under his breath as the knife was wrested from his grasp when the Makura turned to face him once again.
A sudden spray of seawater drenched Makura and Troll both, as a sea lion leapt high into the air from the water’s edge, shapeshifting mid-flight into the minotaur-shape of a member of the Tauren, her fur blindingly white with black "cow spots" and a sword…no, the troll blinked as the image resolved in his stunned brain…a FISHING POLE…held firmly in her large, three-fingered hands.
The Tauren, still airborne, brought the end of the of the fishing pole’s handle down with a martial strike to the top of the Makura’s head, landing the blow with a sickening crunch. The Makura’s form splayed out on the beach, unconscious, or dead did not matter.
Bandyn paused a moment, hrmphed, then turned and calmly strolled down the beach, fishing pole in hand, still looking for that perfect spot…
Hehehe. Totally had the mental picture of that in-game.
In my own experience I have so many times been the druid to the rescue for some hapless adventurer that I’ve started to acquire a nickname: Guardian Fur. Whether it’s a max level heal tossed just in the nick of time, a stealthed pounce stun to give another adventurer a few moments to act, or the rolling, thundering charge of a massive war bear, bellowing certain doom.
Such encounters end, always, with a Mark of the Wild, an adventurer returned to full health, and a respectful bow to the adventurer.
**I’ve been RPing on my server (not an RP server) when possible. Ususally I ask party members if they’re OK with it first and if so then my curious but quixotically noble druid really shines. 🙂
Well done!! Reminds me of my days in EQ1 of going into battle weilding only a fishing pole. *grin*