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The golden blade sings in your hand, a crackle of pure energy spreading along its razor-sharp edge. You strike a tremendous blow, splitting the Vordak’s skull to the teeth. It releases an awful howl of unearthly evil, pain, terror, and death. As it falls, its skeletal body dissolves into a smoking green fluid, shrivelling the plants on the ground beneath.
The Drakkarim hesitate as the golden light of the sun-sword glints on their shiny black death-masks; you see your chance and run straight at them, slashing to left and right. A Drakkar raises his shield, but your blade slices clean through the iron-sheathed wood, severing his arm at the shoulder. Wheeling round, you catch another Drakkar in mid-attack, tearing open his black armour with the sword as if it were merely parchment. He screams in agony, but you disappear into the dense foliage before his body falls lifelessly to the soft earth.
