toward Rytlock.
“Get out of the way!”
Rytlock jumped off the fallen destroyer as the other one crashed down on its back. “Better yet!” the charr enthused. He scooped water from the spring and flung it on them. The droplets struck and sizzled, solidifying magma. “How do you like that?”
“Nice,” Logan said, splashing both monsters.
“While you two mess around,” Caithe said, “I’ve had to keep this one occupied by myself.” She moved wraithlike, ducking beneath an arm, reeling back from another, and diving between its legs.
“Nice, as well,” Logan said.
Behind him, the two destroyers climbed up from the ditch.
“None of us can take a single destroyer,” Logan noted, “but maybe together, we can beat all three.”
Puffing a sweaty lock out of her eyes, Caithe said, “What’s the plan?”
“Well,” Logan said as he ducked a hundred-pound fist, “I seem best at defense.”
“Which means retreating,” Rytlock said as he kicked a destroyer in the chest. The monster reeled back unsteadily.
“And Rytlock seems best at being offensive,” Logan said.
“Hey!”
“Which leaves me,” Caithe added as she high-stepped away from her destroyer. “What’s my role?”
“You deliver the killing blow—like with the devourers.”
Rytlock landed a haymaker on one destroyer’s jaw—then shook out his claw. “These aren’t scorpions. They’re magma monsters. You can’t stab them in the tailbone.”
“Not the tailbone,” Caithe replied as a destroyer grabbed her and began to squeeze. “But magic has channels just like nerves. Weak points.” She thrust a dagger into the lava joint at the creature’s shoulder, twisted, and cracked the arm loose. It clattered to the ground as the destroyer staggered back and Caithe stepped away.
Meanwhile, the charr dodged behind a boulder, a lava creature in pursuit. “What’s the plan?”
“We take out one foe at a time,” Logan responded. “This one, for instance.” He was slowly backing away from a destroyer. “I draw one in”—Logan hooked his war hammer on the lowest limb of a nearby birch and yanked himself up, scrambling onto the branch. The destroyer grasped the tree, setting it alight—“then Rytlock attacks.”
The charr rushed up behind the destroyer and kicked its knee sideways, shattering it. The destroyer crashed to the ground.
Amid flaming branches, Logan shouted out, “And then Caithe delivers the kill.”
The sylvari bounded over to sink her stiletto into the back of the destroyer’s neck. She wrenched the blade in an arc, and the destroyer’s stony head rolled away. She drew out her stiletto and said, “Their necks are weak: all magma. Cuts like butter.”
The lava in the destroyer’s joints turned gray, and the solid bits decayed into separate stones.
“Pretty good,” Logan said.
“Damn good,” Rytlock said.
Caithe grinned at the other two. “Let’s do another.”
They turned and strode side by side toward the other two destroyers.
One roared, flecks of lava flying from its mouth. It charged.
Logan broke from the other two, charging as well.
The destroyer reached with massive hands toward him.
Logan slid beneath them and rammed his war hammer into the monster’s groin. He posted the butt of the haft in the ground, and the beast’s momentum carried it over the hammer. The destroyer hung in the air for a split second, then crashed face-first to the ground.
Rytlock followed on, leaping onto the monster’s back and marching double time. His claws shattered the stony skin, leaving the creature a pulpy mass. Lava oozed up, and Rytlock leaped free, patting out the flames on his dewclaws.
Caithe arrived, her white stiletto spearing the neck of the monster and twisting to rip loose the head. She kicked it away. “Too bad you can’t put these on a pike.”
“I was thinking rock garden,” Logan responded, watching the head roll down the green slope.
Rytlock joined them above the kill, which crackled
“Get out of the way!”
Rytlock jumped off the fallen destroyer as the other one crashed down on its back. “Better yet!” the charr enthused. He scooped water from the spring and flung it on them. The droplets struck and sizzled, solidifying magma. “How do you like that?”
“Nice,” Logan said, splashing both monsters.
“While you two mess around,” Caithe said, “I’ve had to keep this one occupied by myself.” She moved wraithlike, ducking beneath an arm, reeling back from another, and diving between its legs.
“Nice, as well,” Logan said.
Behind him, the two destroyers climbed up from the ditch.
“None of us can take a single destroyer,” Logan noted, “but maybe together, we can beat all three.”
Puffing a sweaty lock out of her eyes, Caithe said, “What’s the plan?”
“Well,” Logan said as he ducked a hundred-pound fist, “I seem best at defense.”
“Which means retreating,” Rytlock said as he kicked a destroyer in the chest. The monster reeled back unsteadily.
“And Rytlock seems best at being offensive,” Logan said.
“Hey!”
“Which leaves me,” Caithe added as she high-stepped away from her destroyer. “What’s my role?”
“You deliver the killing blow—like with the devourers.”
Rytlock landed a haymaker on one destroyer’s jaw—then shook out his claw. “These aren’t scorpions. They’re magma monsters. You can’t stab them in the tailbone.”
“Not the tailbone,” Caithe replied as a destroyer grabbed her and began to squeeze. “But magic has channels just like nerves. Weak points.” She thrust a dagger into the lava joint at the creature’s shoulder, twisted, and cracked the arm loose. It clattered to the ground as the destroyer staggered back and Caithe stepped away.
Meanwhile, the charr dodged behind a boulder, a lava creature in pursuit. “What’s the plan?”
“We take out one foe at a time,” Logan responded. “This one, for instance.” He was slowly backing away from a destroyer. “I draw one in”—Logan hooked his war hammer on the lowest limb of a nearby birch and yanked himself up, scrambling onto the branch. The destroyer grasped the tree, setting it alight—“then Rytlock attacks.”
The charr rushed up behind the destroyer and kicked its knee sideways, shattering it. The destroyer crashed to the ground.
Amid flaming branches, Logan shouted out, “And then Caithe delivers the kill.”
The sylvari bounded over to sink her stiletto into the back of the destroyer’s neck. She wrenched the blade in an arc, and the destroyer’s stony head rolled away. She drew out her stiletto and said, “Their necks are weak: all magma. Cuts like butter.”
The lava in the destroyer’s joints turned gray, and the solid bits decayed into separate stones.
“Pretty good,” Logan said.
“Damn good,” Rytlock said.
Caithe grinned at the other two. “Let’s do another.”
They turned and strode side by side toward the other two destroyers.
One roared, flecks of lava flying from its mouth. It charged.
Logan broke from the other two, charging as well.
The destroyer reached with massive hands toward him.
Logan slid beneath them and rammed his war hammer into the monster’s groin. He posted the butt of the haft in the ground, and the beast’s momentum carried it over the hammer. The destroyer hung in the air for a split second, then crashed face-first to the ground.
Rytlock followed on, leaping onto the monster’s back and marching double time. His claws shattered the stony skin, leaving the creature a pulpy mass. Lava oozed up, and Rytlock leaped free, patting out the flames on his dewclaws.
Caithe arrived, her white stiletto spearing the neck of the monster and twisting to rip loose the head. She kicked it away. “Too bad you can’t put these on a pike.”
“I was thinking rock garden,” Logan responded, watching the head roll down the green slope.
Rytlock joined them above the kill, which crackled
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