Just across the bridge, Bruq suffers his first hit of this combat. The sharpened piece of wood finds its way between his lower ribs, almost ignoring the resistance his leather armor provides. With his glaive in both his hands, swinging from left to right, he doesn't plan to stop his sprint to the cackling ogre.
“Die, goat! Die!” She claps in her hands as grief makes way for mania.
(19 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 15)
While the satyr keeps running, trying to pry the javelin loose, Mero throws another tiny ball of fire at Korga. She tries to fight the fire off again with the same arm that got burned before, but it only scorches it even further. The air around her fills with the macarbe smell of burning flesh. As she looks over her charred limb, she notices the dark scaled dragonborn trying the same magic trick as before, bestowing a painful light of holiness upon her. As quickly as her frail body allows her to, she takes a few steps sidewards and the glow of divine intervention misses its target.
“There's no point in fighting for your life”, Dargothoth shouts at Korga as the half-elf runs passed him, ready to strike down this wicked foe. “You have nothing left to live for. It’s better to end this quickly than to prolong your suffering… I kind of like it, but it’s becoming a bit of a drag. Just like you, a drag.” The cleric speaks these words as he walks up to her with an easy pace, not feeling any rush to blunt her meat beneath his sceptre.
“Cook you first”, she shouts as she slides her hand across her mouth to sweep away the saliva. “Chipping scales as you screams!”
(Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 3)
Dargothoth chuckles. “She is a feisty one, fighting for her life long past her welcome in this world.”
Lyssa, who walks beside him, does not smile. “I’ll give her something to cry about”, she says and tilts her head slightly forward. She stares the ogre straight in the eyes so intensely that she can’t help herself but to look back. As she begins to speak, her voice sounds dissonant, almost mimicking how nails crawl across blackboards or sharp cutlery scratches a finished plate of dinner. Although her companions can hear her speak, their minds seem to ignore the message, as if only Korga is meant to suffer the rather cheerful rhymes she’s singing.
“Your boy is dead, your boy is dead.
I’m going to paint the whole town red
With his blood, his guts, his skin, his head.
I’ll paint your graves and corpses red.”
This lullaby echoes within her head, trying to cripple any motivation to continue fighting or living. The tremors of her head intensify into a livid shaking, accompanied by tears for her murdered son.
(11 versus AC) (Natural 20 versus AC)
“You a monster!”, she cries and gets caught in a blind frenzy. Without taking any precautions she runs up to Bruq, scratching the air in front of her as she goes, hoping to claw out an eye as he comes within reach. Her carelessness is her worst enemy. The satyr easily ducks out of the way and stabs his glaive upward into one of her hairy armpits. He twists his weapon as he pulls it back. He apparently striking one of her nerves as her entire arm falls down, resulting in a limp limb dangling beside her with blood rushing down from it.
(7 versus AC) (22 versus AC) (20 versus AC) (21 versus AC)
They all close in on her and everything goes very quickly from that point. Oslando reaches the easy target, swinging his black longsword and missing her completely. Still recovering from his own nearly fatal experience, he's too exhausted hit her.
Mero, who is not about to change a winning strategy, throws another bolt of fire at her and burns the wrinkled skin of her distasteful belly.
She crouches, covering the burned stomach with her one working arm, making it very easy for Dargothoth to strike her right in the face. The swing he makes is a large one and the effect is audible. They can all hear bones break on the moment of impact.
The shot from the siren’s blunderbuss is from up close. The blast almost pushes Korga off her feet while a gaping wound oozes blood from her chest.
(18 versus AC)
“My… boy”, she stumbles, blood spewing from her mouth as she cries over her losses. “I was... no good mama. Protect son is only task. Korga… wants to die.” She surrenders, falling on her knees and lowering her head. It halts the actions of the fighter, the bard and the sorcerer, but not of the other two.
“As I predicted”, the cleric laughs, but the other remain silent. Dargothoth stops and grimaces.
“Now I feel sad”, Lyssa says, lowering her gun in complete contrast to her stance mere seconds ago.
Bruq shakes his head. “A sad being and a sad end.” She looks up. The trembling increases as she tries to gain eye contact. “Quick… No pain.”
He nods. “Quick, no pain.” He raises the glaive and holds it in the air, creating the dramatic scene of an executioner ready to perform his daily duty.
She looks at the maimed corpse of her son and starts crying louder. “Mama… is coming. Mama…” She is silenced by the singing of the metal blade, the ripping of flesh and bone and the thud of her head vanishing in the tall and concealing grass.
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