Aporkalypse: A Slow Roast

Famine sighed when the fighter lying in front of his feet opened his eyes again and shouted to Death "Why won't he just die?"

The fight with Francis Bacon had taken its toll of the two primal swordsmen. Death had just managed to stand up again after a blow from the Warpig's defender had knocked him unconscious. Clearly less in rage he had managed to get back to full health with Pestilence's help before another hit of the cleric had injured him again. Francis Bacon who likewise was kept alive by his cleric also had just come back to life again after War's fire hawk had knocked him out. All fighters seemed to get tired and the attacks less powerful but apart from aching muscles Famine was still without a scratch and his thundering attacks still hitting hard. Famine looked over his shoulder to War who seemed to move in on the cleric. Good! Somebody had to get the dwarf busy or they could be here till after sunset playing knock-the-fighting-tumbler-down.

Famine looked at Death again. He had been afraid that his friend could have bitten off more again than he could chew, but the Barbarian looked healthy and focused again. With the help of Pestilence's eagle spirit they would be able now to deal ever increasingly strong blows. The seconds of the fighter should be counted! He could feel the primal power building up behind him again. Pestilence was still going strong and with her the spirit. A combined attack again should be enough to finally end this battle and keep the cleric for dessert! With the help of the primal power emanating from the spirit, Death's sword rose again and the well-known smile came back to his face when he looked down onto his prone opponent.....