(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

the muck behind you? You're vermin, shadows of people, desperately
wishing to be human. Pathetic!"
"No, we- we are your superiors!" foam flecked his muzzle as he snarled, "We
are predators. We hunt bipeds. You are food for us! Mewling prey!"
"You're target practice for me."
I tell you, four hundred pounds of rabid wererat diving at you is something
you'll never forget.
That juggernaut of armor and fur barreled into me, lifting me clear from the
floor and slinging me against post of the bridge. Wood cracked, I could feel a
long shard of the splintered wood impale my viscera. The smell of ozone
filled the air, left behind by screaming bolts of eldritch fury. I could hear the
sound of battle, the squeal of rats as they fell and the clang of crude steel
against karach.
I coughed. There's that taste of blood again.
Gripping my beaded dreadlocks, Mantuok smashed my head into one of the
planks of the bridge. It splintered under me. He lifted my head, angling
enough to crack me into another plank. And another.
There was an upper limit to how many wooden planks the human skull can
endure, and I was reaching mine. My eyes rolled lazily in their sockets, the
world spun. I could feel the thrum of raw power far beneath me. It was that
green swirling energy in the depths of the chasm, crashing against the stone
and pulsing with a deep, hungry light. As if from a long tunnel there was the
distant hiss of Mantuok's voice, his breath reeking of rotting meat and old
cheese.
"What treasures do you have, manling? What objects of power might I pry
from your miserable, half-embalmed corpse?"
"Before ogling other people's treasures," I groaned, "You'd better protect
your own."
And with a thrust of my leg, I brought my spiked kneepad into his crotch.
Mantuok drew a sharp breath, his beady red eyes shrank back as a shrill,
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