Durrak flicked the gore from his Gisarme’s blade with an abrupt snapping motion of his wrists and brought it back to a guard position.  The last of the Taken in the square had once been an ogre and its legs were as thick as his torso.  There were two score arrows stuck in its thick hide but they hadn’t seemed to even inconvenience the monster.

“I do be getting bored of this one Lorin.”  He said laconically.  “It do be big enough to be falling hard.”

Lorin laughed, used to his friend’s dry humor by now and sent a veritable storm of arrows flying at the monster’s head.  At the same time Durrak put his head down and ran forward.  He hooked the bill of his polearm around the Ogre’s hindmost knee and jerked forward at the same time he slammed his shoulder into its thigh just above the knee.

The impact jarred him, even through Bonecrusher’s Brace, and the monster got one strike in with a fist fully half the size of the Dwarf.  He grunted in pain, but didn’t lose his grip on the haft of his weapon and used the force of the blow to rip most of the way through the joint of the knee before the blade tore free.

Landing with more grace than most would expect from his stocky form, Durrak took two swift strides and used his weapon as a lever to vault.  Hitting the Ogre in the chest with both feet was enough to make it stumble and the weakened leg crumpled beneath the weight.  The impact of it striking the cobblestones rattled windows of nearby buildings.  One swift strike with the blade side of his Gisarme made sure it didn’t rise again.

“You’re mad.”  Lorin said, laughing again.  “I swear Durrak, you have a death wish.”

“I do be wishing the death of my enemies.”  He replied, taking a cigar from his pouch and puffing on it in satisfaction.  Looking at the destruction around them his expression sobered.  “They do be seeming to be getting closer.”

“I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about.  It’s a big city, but there are just so bedamned many of the things they’re bound to find us eventually.”  Lorin shrugged, “You always manage to make short work of them regardless.”

“My luck no do be lasting forever.”  Durrak said through a cloud of light blue smoke.  “We do be needing to get the rest of the living out before it do be too late.”

“As luck may have it, we moved the last of the refugees out just yesterday.”  Lorin said, “Unless we’re waiting to be able to get into those and see if anyone is still, alive inside.”  He pointed to the multicolored spheres of magic that floated high above the city.

“We do need to be thinking about them.”  Durrak said through a cloud of silver smoke with blue swirls in it.  “If they do be needing help we do be the only ones who may be offering it.”

“When are you going to quit pretending you’re some kind of philanthropist?” Lorin asked, “Why are you really here?”

“I did be telling you when we first met.”  Durrak said, dropping the still burning stub of his cigar back into his cigar pouch.  “I do be looking for Cerioth.”

A pair of warriors cleaned and sheathed their swords, giving Durrak a respectful bow.  “Lord Caverstorm, the last two have been slain.”

Durrak grunted, not comfortable or interested in any of this ‘Lord’ business but accepting it as an expedient way of getting and keeping respect without having to beat it out of them every day.  Something caught his eye and he went from leaning at his ease on the staff of his polearm to leaping halfway across the square in two huge bounds, bringing the wicked edge of his gisarme down fast enough that it clove the air with a sharp whistle.

When he saw the target was a child, he redirected the blow with a savage wrenching of his arms, burying the Adamantine blade in the stone wall of the building instead of the child’s head.  The stone was sheared in half with an ear-splitting crash and Durrak barely managed to scoop the child back out of the way before the entire wall of the house came tumbling down.