Chapter 8: Logger's Last Stand
The forest was still covered in early morning mist as I moved through the underbrush, my wooden bow held at the ready. My stomach wasn't exactly growling - I still had enough fox meat to last a couple days - but I was hoping to level up my archery skills. Every little bit helped in this world, and if I got good enough, maybe I could start selling pelts for some extra coin.
A soft whimper caught my attention, and I froze mid-step. There, not far away, was a wolf slumped against the trunk of an old oak. Its fur was matted with blood, and even from here I could see it panting with labored breaths.
I inched closer, and my eyes narrowed. The wound looked... off. Too clean, too precise to be from another animal. No, that was definitely made by a blade. A memory flashed through my mind - the pack of wolves that had attacked me just days ago. I'd killed one, sure, but two had escaped. One into the forest, one into the river...
Could this be one of them? I was still a good distance away from that place, but it's possible it found its way here…
My fingers found an arrow, nocking it almost without conscious thought. The wolf's ears twitched at the faint sound, and it let out another pitiful whine. Its eyes, once probably fierce and wild, now looked dull with exhaustion.
"Sorry, buddy," I whispered, drawing back the bowstring. "Time to end your suffering."
I took a deep breath, aiming carefully. The string bit into my fingers as I held the draw, waiting for that perfect moment. Then, with a soft exhale, I let fly.
The arrow whistled through the air... and buried itself in the tree trunk a good foot above the wolf's head.
"Oh, come on!" I hissed, cheeks flushed red.
Grumbling under my breath, I nocked another arrow. This time, I took an extra moment to line up the shot. The wolf hadn't even flinched at my previous attempt, too weak to care about the danger.
Thunk!
The arrow found its mark, piercing the wolf's skull. It was over in an instant, the creature slumping to the forest floor without so much as a whimper.
Marksman increased to 16
A grin spread across my face as the notification popped up. "Well, what do you know?" I muttered. "Maybe there's hope for me yet."
I made my way over to the fallen wolf, giving the area a quick scan to make sure there weren't any of its pack mates lurking nearby. Satisfied I was alone, I reached for the arrow lodged in the tree trunk. I tugged... and promptly snapped the shaft in two.
"Dammit," I swore, glaring at the broken arrow. Twenty arrows had seemed like plenty when I started. Now I was down to nineteen. Or hopefully nineteen, anyway.
Shaking my head, I crouched beside the wolf's body. This time, I was more careful as I took out the arrow from its skull. It came free with a bloody squelch, but at least it was intact. I was just about to start the messy business of skinning when two pointy ears caught my eye.
A plump rabbit was nibbling lazily at a patch of dewy grass. Its long ears twitched, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby. I slowly, carefully reached for an arrow from my quiver.
I held my breath, muscles tensing as I nocked the shaft and drew back the string. The world narrowed to just me, the bow, and that unsuspecting ball of fur. I released on the exhale, the bowstring slapping against my forearm with a satisfying thwack. The arrow zipped through the air, and the rabbit let out a small squeak as it was pierced through.
"Ha!" I couldn't help the triumphant whisper that escaped my lips. My eyes lit up in glee as I jogged over to claim my prize. The rabbit was as light as it looked, its fur still warm to the touch. I hesitated for a moment before shrugging and putting the whole thing into my inventory. It took up only 5 units of weight, so there was no need to butcher this one on the spot – I could deal with it later when I had more time.
Back at the wolf, I stretched my arms behind my back and got to work. The pungent smell of blood filled my nostrils as I sliced into the thick pelt. It was slow going, my knife catching and slipping more often than I'd like to admit. By the time I'd managed to separate hide from flesh, my hands were cramping and covered in a sticky mess of gore.
"Well," I muttered, eyeing the ragged pelt, "it's no good, but it's better than yesterday's disaster."
The real challenge came with the butchering. I hacked away at the carcass, trying to remember what little I knew about anatomy. The sword wound complicated things, leaving weird, discolored patches of meat that I didn't dare keep. In the end, I salvaged three decent cuts, along with a handful of claws, the eyes (which were just as gross to remove as I'd feared), and a good chunk of fat.
I gathered my spoils into my inventory, and I couldn't help but sigh at the state of my clothes. Yesterday's dip in the darkened river hadn't done much to clean them, and now they were even worse.
"Maybe Delphine's got a tub I can use," I considered, already dreading the innkeeper's reaction to my blood-soaked appearance. "Or at least a bucket of water and some soap."
I trudged back towards the river, my clothes stiff with dried blood and other unmentionable fluids. The morning sun was climbing higher, burning away the last wisps of mist clinging to the forest floor. As I reached the water's edge, I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of my situation.
"Look at me now," I murmured, peeling off my tunic with a grimace. "From student on Earth to hunter in Skyrim. Life's funny sometimes."
I waded into the shallows, and began dunking my clothes, scrubbing as best I could without soap. The river ran red for a moment, and I winced, hoping no one downstream would notice.
"Good enough," I sighed after a few minutes of vigorous scrubbing. The clothes were still stained, but at least they weren't dripping gore anymore. I wrung them out and slipped the damp garments back on, shivering slightly as the cool fabric clung to my skin.
The walk back to Riverwood was mercifully short. A few early risers gave me odd looks as I squelched my way through town, leaving damp footprints in my wake. I ignored them, making a beeline for the Sleeping Giant Inn.
The common room was quiet this early. Delphine stood behind the bar, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in my wet appearance.
"Rough night?" she asked, one eyebrow arched skeptically.
I managed a sheepish grin. "Something like that. Say... you wouldn't happen to have a bath I could use, would you?"
Delphine's other eyebrow joined the first. "We do. It'll cost you 10 septims."
I hesitated, my hand halfway to my coin purse. Ten septims just for a bath? That was steep. But then again, the thought of spending another day in these damp, stained clothes made my skin crawl, so I fished out the coins.
"Deal," I said, sliding the septims across the bar.
Delphine pocketed the money and produced a small iron key. "Follow me," she said, leading me towards a door I hadn't noticed before. It opened to reveal a set of stairs descending into what looked like a cellar.
At the bottom, Delphine guided me to one of several doors lining a narrow hallway. "This one's yours," she said, handing me the key. "Leave it unlocked when you're done."
"Thanks," I said as she turned to leave. I slipped inside, locking the door behind me with a satisfying click.
The room was small but clean, dominated by a square wooden tub filled with steaming water. My spirits lifted at the sight – and then promptly sank again as I noticed the basket of soap bars sitting on a nearby shelf. Each bar had a little sign propped in front of it, listing names and prices.
"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned. "The water's extra?"
Grumbling under my breath about money-grubbing innkeepers, I approached the basket for a closer look. To my surprise, as I examined each bar, small panels popped into existence before my eyes:
Soap (Blue Mountain): Soap scented with Blue Mountain Flowers. Slightly increases health regeneration. Cost: 12 septims
Soap (Dragon's Tongue): Soap scented with Dragon's Tongue Flowers. Slightly increases your fire resistance and your speechcraft. Cost: 24 septims
Soap (Lavender): Soap scented with Lavender. Slightly increases your magic resistance and your speechcraft. Cost: 24 septims
Soap (Plain): Soap with a neutral scent. Slightly raises your sneak ability by masking your scent. Cost: 12 septims
Soap (Red Mountain Flower): Soap scented with Red Mountain Flowers. Slightly increases magicka regeneration. Cost: 24 septims
Soap (Superior Mountain Flower): Soap scented with Mountain Flowers. Slightly increases health, magicka and stamina regeneration. Cost: 24 septims
I let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned," I said, eyeing the soaps with appreciation. The prices were still outrageous, but those effects... those could be genuinely useful.
After a moment's deliberation, I reached for the plain soap. It was the cheapest option besides the blue mountain variant, and that sneaking bonus could come in handy for hunting. I placed 12 septims in the basket and snagged the bar, then stripped off my stained clothes and sank into the steaming water with a contented sigh.
The soap lathered up nicely, filling the small room with a subtle, clean scent. I scrubbed away days' worth of sweat, blood, and general grime, watching the water turn an alarming shade of brown. By the time I was done, my skin was pink from scrubbing and my fingers were pruney, but I felt like a new man.
Curious, I pulled up my Effects panel as I toweled off. A grin spread across my face as I read the new entries:
Recently Washed: You take your appearance seriously and those around you take notice. You are more likely to get a good price at shops, less likely to catch a disease and more likely to succeed when using your persuasion skills.
Soap (Plain): 5% harder to detect.
"Not too shabby," I chuckled, grabbing my clothes to start scrubbing them as well. "Maybe this bath was worth the septims after all."
oo0ooOoo0oo
I was lounging at one of the old tables near the mill, enjoying a rare moment of rest. Gunnar and Bjorn sat across from me, swapping stories between gulps of ale.
"...an' then the daft sod tries to tell me he's the bloody Jarl of Whiterun!" Gunnar guffawed, his booming laughter making the tabletop tremble. "I damn near pissed myself laughing."
Bjorn slapped the table, tears of mirth streaming down his ruddy cheeks. "That's rich! What'd you do, give him a few across the face for his troubles?"
Before Gunnar could respond, the crunch of boots on gravel announced Hod's approach.
"Enjoying yourselves, I see," he said, though his tone held more amusement than rebuke. "Well, break time's over, lads. Get ready – you're heading out to Hjalmar's Grove for some logging."
I perked up at that, setting my half-empty tankard aside. A logging expedition was just what I needed to break up the monotony of mill work.
Hod jerked his head, motioning someone over. "Svog! C'mere, lad."
A wiry young man, can't have been more than twenty-five, came trotting up. Sandy hair stuck out from under his cap at odd angles, and a smattering of freckles danced across his nose.
"You'll be partnering up with Alex today," Hod told him, clapping me on the shoulder with a calloused hand. "He's still wet behind the ears when it comes to chopping, so keep an eye on him, yeah?"
Svog shot me a grin, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. "You got it, boss! Don't you worry, I'll have greenie here swinging an axe like a proper woodsman 'fore the day's out."
I couldn't help but return his smile, appreciating the easy camaraderie. "Looking forward to learning from the best," I said with just a hint of playful sarcasm.
Hod rolled his eyes at our antics before turning to address the others. "Right, listen up! Bjorn, you'll be our teamster - get that ox hitched up proper. And Gunnar..." He fixed the grizzled lumberjack with a pointed stare. "Try not to drink yourself blind before we even leave, eh? You're on limbing duty."
Gunnar raised his hands in protest, but the roguish twinkle in his eye gave him away. "Aye, aye, boss. I'll be a model of sobriety, I swear it."
Chuckling under his breath, Hod waved us off to our tasks. I fell into step beside Svog, the two of us heading for the equipment shed to grab our axes.
"So, Alex," Svog said once we were out of earshot, "you really never chopped wood before?"
"First week, huh?" Svog said, giving me an appraising look as we reached the equipment shed. "Well, don't you worry none. Ole Svog here will have you splitting logs like a seasoned pro afore you know it."
He swung open the wooden door, and rows of well-used axes lined the walls, their heads gleaming dully in the lazy sunlight shining through the shed's grimy windows.
"Pick your poison, greenhorn," he said with a crooked grin, gesturing to the impressive line of blades. His own axe was slung over one freckled shoulder, the handle worn smooth by countless hands.
I ran my fingers along the rack, feeling the weight of each tool, thankful that Gunnar had given me at least some tips yesterday. Some were single-bit axes made for felling trees with their broad, curved blades. Others were double-bitted, meant for limbing and bucking logs into manageable lengths. A few smaller hatchets caught my eye, their keen edges promising precision over brute force.
"This one," I decided at last, testing the heft of a sturdy single-bit axe. It felt solid in my grip, perfectly balanced. Not too heavy, but with enough weight to put some real power behind each swing.
Svog nodded approvingly. "Good choice. That'll serve you well for woodcutter duty. Just mind you don't take off a toe while you're at it." He shot me a wink to take any sting out of the jibe.
We came out of the musty shed, blinking in the bright morning sunshine. The rest of the crew was already gathered near the bridge, supplies and equipment loaded into a sturdy ox-drawn wagon. Bjorn stood at the front, reins in hand, while Gunnar lounged against the wagon's side. He raised his waterskin in a mock salute as we approached.
"There's our strapping young lumberjacks!" he bellowed with a laugh. "Was starting to think you two had gotten lost playing hide-the-peavey back in that tool shed."
I groaned at the crude joke, but Svog just grinned right back, not missing a beat. "Keep your breeches on, old-timer. We were just admiring the impressive axe you must be compensating for."
A round of loud laughter erupted from the gathered men. Even Hod chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement at our antics. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for us to load up.
"Alright, enough woolgathering," he called out. "You bunch got daylight burning and a grove of timber waiting. Let's get a move on!"
I clambered up into the back of the wagon, stowing my new axe safely beside the coiled ropes and spare tools. The wagon rocked and creaked as the others piled in, soon joined by the regular clop of the ox's hooves as Bjorn urged it into motion.
Svog lounged beside me on the wagon's bench, one foot propped up on the edge as he whittled idly at a piece of scrap wood with his knife. The scritch of blade against grain provided a steady counterpoint to Gunnar's booming voice as he regaled us with another tale of debauchery from his misspent youth.
"...so there I was, stark naked as the day I was born, standing in the middle of Whiterun's market with a goat under one arm!" he laughed loudly in mirth. "And not just any goat, mind you - this was the Jarl's prized milker! Old Balgruuf near had kittens when he saw me leading Bessie through the streets in naught but my skin."
Bjorn snorted from his perch up front, reins in hand. "That so? Way I heard it, you were the one getting led around on a leash that night."
Even I couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculous mental image Gunnar's story conjured. The older man took the ribbing in stride, waving a dismissive hand.
"Details, details," he boomed. "Point is, I gave that goat a night she'll never forget!"
The vulgar jokes continued to flow as our wagon trundled deeper into the forest, the trees slowly growing thicker and more dense around us. Svog joined in enthusiastically, trading barbs and one-liners with an ease that spoke of long practice. For my part, I was content to listen and soak in everything.
After what felt like hours of bouncing along the bumpy trail, Bjorn reined the ox to a halt. "Here we are, lads - Hjalmar's Grove."
I peered over the wagon's edge, my breath catching in my throat. The grove lived up to its name - a genuine forest of thick, towering pines crowded close together in this secluded clearing. Their massive trunks put the trees around Riverwood to shame, their uppermost branches disappearing into a dense canopy high overhead.
"Bloody hell," I muttered under my breath. "Those are some serious trees."
Svog must have caught my awestruck tone, because he clapped me on the shoulder with a hand. "You ain't seen nothing yet, greenie. Just wait'll you get up close and personal with one of these big beauties."
We set to work unloading the wagon, Svog and I hefting axes and ropes while Gunnar and Bjorn saw to the other tools of the trade - wedges, grips, cant hooks and more. Gunnar kept up a steady stream of lewd jokes the whole time, occasionally breaking into loud guffaws that echoed through the grove.
Once everything was neatly laid out, Svog jerked his head towards a cluster of slender saplings near the grove's edge. "Might as well start you off small, eh? Give you a chance to get the feel for that axe before we put you to work on the big'uns."
His own axe was already in hand, the well-worn handle looking as much an extension of his arm as the tool it was. With a lazy flick, Svog sent the razor-sharp bit biting into the first sapling's tender bark in a crisp line just above the ground.
I watched as he shifted his stance and brought the axe around in a smooth arc. Muscles flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he put his weight into the swing, and the sapling gave a protesting groan as its slender trunk began to part. A few more blows, each one sinking the blade deeper, and the tree toppled over with a final creak.
Svog turned to me, grinning as he dragged the back of his hand across his temple. "Easy as falling off a log, see? Now you give it a go."
Swallowing hard, I selected one of the smaller saplings and stepped up to it, giving the slim trunk an experimental rap with the flat of my axe head. It was solid, but not too thick - maybe six or seven inches across at most. A far cry from the towering pines looming over us, but a good place to start.
I mimicked Svog's motions, chopping a neat line around the slender sapling's circumference. The blade sank surprisingly deep into the tender bark, and I could already feel the strain in my shoulders and back. Felling trees wasn't going to be as easy as it looked.
Taking a deep breath, I shifted my stance and brought the axe up over my head, muscles tensing in preparation. As it reached the apex of its arc, I put every ounce of strength into the downward swing. The blade bit into the trunk with a meaty thunk, burying itself a few inches deep.
"Not bad, greenie!" Svog called out, laughter in his voice. "But you're gonna need to put some real oomph behind those swings if you want to drop this little guy."
Gritting my teeth, I wrenched the axe free and repeated the motion, throwing my weight behind each blow. Sweat beaded on my brow as I hacked away, the sapling's protest growing louder with every strike. Finally, with one last mighty heave, the slender trunk parted completely. The tree toppled over with a final creak of defeat.
"Ha! There you go!" Svog clapped me on the shoulder, grinning broadly. "Told you it was easy as falling off a log."
I couldn't help but return his smile. "One down," I panted, "about a hundred more to go."
Svog just laughed at my sarcastic remark and gestured for me to take on the next sapling. I obliged, focusing all my effort into each swing of the axe. By the time I'd felled my third tree, I was already starting to feel the burn in my muscles.
"Alright, greenhorn," Svog said after watching me work for a while. "I reckon it's time we stepped things up a notch." He jerked his head towards the towering pines at the grove's heart. "Let's show you how the big boys do it."
My eyes widened as I took in the sheer girth of the massive trunks. Some were easily three or four feet across - far too big for one person to take down alone. Svog seemed to read the apprehension on my face, because he let out a bark of laughter.
"Don't you worry none," he assured me, slinging a friendly arm around my shoulders. "We'll be tackling these bad boys as a team. Just do as I say, and we'll have one of these giants kissing turf before you know it."
Under Svog's watchful guidance, we selected one of the larger specimens and got to work. He showed me where to make the initial undercut, then how to properly align the back cut so the tree would fall exactly where we wanted. Every step of the process required us working in tandem, our axe blows alternating in a steady rhythm.
The minutes ticked by, sweat pouring down our faces as we hacked away at the massive pine. My arms felt like lead, every swing of the axe more taxing than the last. Just when I thought I couldn't manage another blow, Svog would shout out words of encouragement, his own relentless energy spurring me onwards.
At long last, after what must have been forty grueling minutes, the tree gave a mighty groan. Svog's face split into a triumphant grin as the first cracks appeared in the back cut.
"Timber!" he bellowed, grabbing my arm and yanking me back just as the massive trunk finally parted completely.
I stumbled away, gaping in awe as the towering pine slowly toppled over. Its descent seemed to happen in slow motion, branches whipping through the air as it crashed to the forest floor with an earth-shaking thud that sent birds exploding from the canopy in a riot of wings and startled cries.
Svog let out a whoop of pure, unbridled joy, slapping me on the back so hard I nearly bit my tongue. "Did you see that, greenie? Smooth as a newborn's backside!"
I could only nod mutely, still trying to process what we'd just accomplished. That sense of achievement, of working together to overcome such an immense challenge... it was intoxicating in a way I couldn't quite describe.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of swinging axes and falling timber. We worked as a well-oiled machine, Svog and I taking down the larger pines while the others busied themselves with limbing and bucking our felled prizes into manageable logs.
By the time the wagon was full of logs, we were all utterly spent. I leaned against the wagon, legs trembling and lungs burning as I gulped down water. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, a dull ache that went bone-deep.
Svog looked just as exhausted, his shirt soaked through with sweat and his fiery hair plastered to his forehead. Even Gunnar and Bjorn, hardened veterans of a thousand logging runs, moved with a slowness that spoke of great fatigue.
"You still with us, greenie?" Svog panted, flashing me a tired but genuine grin. "Can't have you passing out on your first real day in the woods."
I mustered up a weak chuckle, too drained to muster much more. "Still kicking," I assured him. "Barely."
We began the long trek back to Riverwood, and I collapsed onto the wagon's bench, my whole body feeling like a bundle of aching muscles held together with frayed twine. The gentle rocking motion as we set off wasn't doing my queasiness any favors, but I was too exhausted to care.
The journey passed slowly, my eyelids growing heavier by the minute despite my best efforts. I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I knew, Svog was shaking me urgently.
"Alex! Wake up, we've got trouble!"
My eyes snapped open, adrenaline spiking as I took in the scene. We were barely moving, the wagon's wheels spinning futilely in the dirt as the ox lowed in distress. As my gaze darted around, I caught sight of something that made my blood run cold - wooden steps leading up into the hillside.
"Shit," I cursed under my breath, recognizing the entrance to Embershard Mine. We'd passed this spot in the morning without incident, and I'd let my guard down. Now, as if summoned by my moment of complacency, a group of armed men emerged from the tree line like ghosts.
Bandits.
My heart stuttered in my chest as one of them, a grizzled man wielding a vicious-looking mace, stepped forward.
"Well, well," he sneered, his voice like gravel. "What have we here? Looks like a bunch of poor sods who took a wrong turn."
Gunnar was on his feet in an instant, fingers tightening around the shaft of his axe. "You lot best keep moving," he growled, eyes narrowed. "We're not looking for trouble."
The bandit's gaze swept over us in a way that made my skin crawl. "Trouble generally finds me," he said with a cruel smile. "Now, way I see it, you layabouts got two choices - hand over any valuables you got stashed away and we'll let you go on your merry way. Or..."
It happened so fast. One moment, Gunnar was tensed like a coiled spring, axe at the ready. The next, a crossbow bolt sprouted from his throat with a meaty thunk. The lumberjack's eyes went wide, hands clutching weakly at the protruding shaft as a blood spread across his tunic. He crumpled to the ground without a sound, life fading from his eyes.
"No!" The anguished cry tore from my lips before I could stop it.
Another bolt whistled past, so close I felt the air shift against my cheek. Bjorn jerked violently, a spray of blood arcing from his ruined eye socket as he joined Gunnar in the dirt.
Svog was moving, axe raised high, but the bandits were too fast. Three of them swarmed him at once, blades flashing in the forest light. The young lumberjack's defiant war cry turned into a wet, gurgling scream as a sword punched through his back.
I could only watch, paralyzed with horror, as Svog collapsed like a broken doll. The bandits jeered and laughed, kicking his twitching body with cruel amusement.
Bile rose in my throat as I lurched to my feet, fumbling for my sword with numb fingers. The iron blade appeared in my grasp, solid and reassuring. I willed my inventory open and my iron armor settled onto my frame in an instant.
Gripping my sword tighter, I charged the bandit leader with a wordless roar of fury. He turned just in time to deflect my wild swing with his mace, the impact jarring my entire body. I staggered back a step, raising my shield that had appeared out of thin air just as the cruel spike of his weapon lashed out.
Metal screeched against metal as the mace's head skidded off my shield's curved surface. The bandit leader grinned, baring blackened teeth as he pressed the attack. I was forced back, deflecting each blow with my shield as he battered me relentlessly.
My arms trembled from the strain, sweat stinging my eyes. The bandit was a whirlwind of steel and spiked iron, each strike carrying bone-crushing force. I was quickly losing ground, my footing becoming more and more unsteady with each desperate parry.
Finally, inevitably, he found an opening. One moment I was grimly holding my ground, the next a burst of white-hot agony exploded across my ribs. The mace's sharp spikes had found their mark, shattering armor and flesh alike in a single violent strike.
I crumpled to my knees, sword slipping from slippery fingers as I clutched at the ragged wound. Blood pulsed between my fingers, hot and slick, and I could taste copper at the back of my throat. The bandit leader loomed over me, grinning like a wolf contemplating a helpless fawn.
"Well, well," he mocked, giving me a rough kick that sent me sprawling. "What do we have here, lads? Some kind of magic trick?"
I blinked blearily, struggling to focus through the pain. The rest of the bandits had gathered around, their rough laughter grating in my ears.
"Never seen the like," one of them grunted, poking at the discarded armor with the toe of his boot. "Where'd all this come from?"
The leader shrugged nonchalantly, eyes lingering on me with open curiosity. "Your guess is as good as mine, Rolf." He twirled his spiked mace lazily. "Don't matter much. Just make sure the bastard is dead."
I summoned what little strength I had left, glaring up at him with all the hatred I could muster. "I'll... kill you," I rasped, blood bubbling on my lips. "I swear... I'll have my revenge!"
The bandits chuckled in disbelief. Their leader crouched down, his foul breath washing over me as he leaned in close. "Oh yeah? And how you gonna do that, boy? As a corpse?"
A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see another bandit, a wicked dagger glinting in his grimy fist. The blade flashed down, and white-hot agony exploded across my throat. I tried to scream, but only a wet gurgle escaped as blood poured from the gaping wound.
The world started to fade, sounds becoming muffled and distant. I felt a rough hand grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head up. My body slumped to the ground, a lifeless husk. Through rapidly dimming vision, I saw the bandit leader's face, twisted in a sadistic grin.
"Sweet dreams, magic boy," he growled.
The last thing I felt was my severed head being kicked like a ball, sailing through the air before smashing against a tree trunk. Then, mercifully, death claimed me.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone