Morg stomped onto the deck of the Wind Raven with a leg of meat in one hand and his hammer in the other. Sounds of battle already came from below. He knew the rest would have started without him, but he couldn’t fight on an empty stomach.
In two bites and two steps the large man devoured his lunch and made it to the side of the airship. He looked over the edge, down several fathoms to the skirmish below. Large green creatures assaulted the outpost below, Morg’s colleagues already working to cull them. With the shrill battle cry of his people he leapt over the side trusting that his armor would absorb the shock of the fall.
A full second later, he landed on the soft ground below with a sploosh and a thud. The hsock of the impact felt good in his legs. Without any more thought he singled out the largest bog creature of the bunch as his first victim. He threw the bone of his lunch to get the attention of the green mass of vines. The bone bounced off what he assumed was the head and it turned toward him. He grabbed his great hammer now with two hands.
“Come and get me, ugly boy.”
The creature was not as stupid as some of the things of the deep wilds that they had fought. It did not charge in with a shriek, but shambled closer to him almost confidently. Then faster than he could move in his massive angular silver armor, a blow came from the creature. It struck him in the side and make him give ground. A whir began soft at first.
Morg took a quick swipe to keep the creature focused on him and then another step back. He set his feet solidly and waited. He could afford to be patient. He was just getting warmed up.
The creature opened a wide maw with jagged wooden spikes as teeth. It issues a blood curdling scream and took one massive step toward Morg, unleashing several blows at once as its vines streaked forward. Morg made no move to defend himself, confident in his stance. Each blow whacked him but slid off. With each strike the whir grew loader into a whine that pierced the battle. Now he was getting into things, Morg thought.
Morg felt the power of his armor build as the whine grew shrill. He could sense the crackling anticipation of energy in the hammer, drawing its power from the suit through a thick wire. He spun the hammer lightly in his hands and took to the offensive. One step, two, he took toward the tall writhing green thing in front him. The fact that it was nearly double his height did not bother him at all.
He raised the hammer above his head and dropped one great overhand blow onto the creatures feet. Ichor splashed about, but apparently did not slow the creature which managed to step out of range of Morg’s next to blows. Morg let it, knowing he had time yet.
The bog monster formed itself an arm and swung heavily toward Morg. Once, twice, Morg ducked the blow avoiding the blows, letting the creature overextend.
“Ok now I’m bored,” Morg quipped. “Let’s end this.” He shifted his grip on the hammer and twisted a section of it. Electricity surged through the weapon from his suit with a great thunderclap. Crackling sparks leapt back to his gauntlets from the hammer as well as arcing into the air. He felt renewed power and strength flow through his arms.
The creature stopped its assault at the change that had overcome its opponent. Morg used this opening to once again raise his hammer high over his head. It was theatrics, he knew, but he liked the theatrics. He channelled all of his battle rage into the one blow and brought down the heavy head his his warhammer down onto the creature before him. Whereas his previous blows had certainly injured the creature, this blow obliterated it. His hammer crackled as it fell but otherwise smashed through the creature as if it was nothing more than stewed spinach. Morg let his hammer fall all the way to the ground leaving an imprint there.
As he recovered from his almighty blow, Morg realized the jungle had quieted down. The hum of the airship above remained, but otherwise not much more than the creak of trees in the wind and dripping of water reached his ears. A stench of burning plants reached his nose from the charred squishy mass in front of him, all that remained of the massive bog creature.
He looked around at the faces of his compatriots. “Enough with exercise,” Morg said. “Back up top for lunch?”
— The trooper class is a true tank. Slow and patient, building up steam from hits he absorbs, unleashing it all in one big smash.