What Not To Wear

The orc died with a strangled cry, as Hrothgar the Itchy’s axe cleaved through its arm and sank into its chest. Hrothgar wrenched the axe out as the orc fell and spun around, looking for the next enemy.

“Clear over here,” Mundark, Priest of Valla the Ludicrously Violent, as he bludgeoned the last orc into a smear on the floor with his two-handed maul.

“I think we got them all,” Ashra said, stepping out from the hall, a curl of smoke rising from her staff. 

Twenty-odd orcs lay dead around the room, most clustered around the remains of a table where they had been eating a nice lunch. Those at the table had taken the full brunt of Ashra’s fireball, while the few remaining orcs were quickly wiped out by Hrothgar and Mundark.

“Anything interesting over there?” Mundark asked, as he wiped his maul on a dead orc.

“No,” Ashra answered, as she poked through the remains of a chest with the tip of her staff. “I don’t think we’re going to get much more than a handful of copper out of them.”

“Hey!” Hrothgar said from the other side of the room. Ashra and Mundark turned to see him holding up a severed leg. The boot on it was still in good shape, though covered in blood, burnt flesh, and possibly brains.

Hrothgar tossed the limb towards Arisha. “Check and see if those boots are magic, would ya?”

Arisha dodged, allowing the limb and boot to sail past. “Watch the robe!” she said, straightening. “I just had it cleaned.”

Mundark snorted. “You can take a Barbarian out of the hills, but you can’t-“

“Get him to stop playing with bodies. Yes,” Ashra said. “I’m familiar with the saying.” She stepped over to the remains and held out her out. At a few whispered words, the boot began to glow. “Minor armor bonus,” she said. “And they treat and/or prevent Athlete’s Foot.”

“Dibs!” Hrothgar happily called out, as he pulled the other boot off the stump it was still attached to.

“Wait a sec,” Mundark said. “We do Need Before Greed.”

“I’ll pass,” Ashra said.

Mundark shrugged. “I’ve got my Boots of Not Slipping On Entrails, so I guess they’re yours, Hroth.”

“Sweet!” The Barbarian happily retrieved the boot Ashra had examined and sat down on the only remaining bench, where he began to pull off his old boots.

“Wait,” Ashra said. “You’re going to wear them right now?”

“Why not?” Hrothgar pulled the foot out of the right boot and pulled it on. It made a squelching noise.

“At least get them cleaned first,” Ashra said.

“Why?” Hrothgar said, as he pulled the left boot on. He grimaced and then pulled it off again. He shook the boot and then reached in, pulling out a lump of flesh. “Orc toe,” he said, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Because they’re covered in dead orc?”

“Give it up, Ash,” Mundark said, as he leaned against the wall. “I once saw him eat a troll heart on a bet.”

Ashra turned to look at the cleric. “But trolls regenerate?”

“Yep,” said Hrothgar, as he happily jumped up and down in his new boots, which made squishing noises. “I shoulda gotten extra xp after that trip to the privy.”

“Fine,” Ashra said, with a shake of your head. “But you have to stay downwind until you get those things cleaned.”

“Hey,” Hrothgar said. “How much will you give me to eat burnt orc?”

Ashra sighed. “Let’s just go.”

“Seriously. I’ll totally take a bite for five gold.” Hrothgar said, as he followed his two companions out of the room, his new boots leaving a trail of bloody footprints down the hall.

Cheers,

-Jason