Chapter Two - Part One

They had set off in high spirits that morning from the tribal camp.

The forest had been full of a strange black aura and their Shamans had forbade going into it beyond the outposts until whatever malevolent force was gone.

They had obeyed but now the villages supplies were running low and more would need to be gathered if they were to continue to survive for much longer in the jungle. Luckily the shaman hadn't felt the black presence in a while. So a small party was formed to do a quick supply run; a procurement quest.

Three ogre scouts, armed with a full quiver of fire-hardened wooden javelins and a large imposing club slung over the other shoulder. Accompanying two ogre grunts, crude stone axes in hand for harvesting resources. The grunts would be carrying all the necessary supplies back to the awaiting encampment.

They had ventured closer to the outer wall than they maybe should have.

Tempted by its rich saplings that just were right for coppicing. Their triangle formation ensuring the safety of the heavy supply sack that dangled like a tiger from the pole bridge that connected the two grunts. Suddenly in front of them on the forest trail appeared a strange figure.

It materialised out of thin air before them.

Even separated by a distance of at least two hundred yards they could hear it chanting dark curses under its breath.

Unfortunately the lead scout locked eyes with the figure. Its glowing crimson pupils full of bloodlust sent shivers down the veteran hunters spines as it continued the chant. It began its charge at them.

The party reacted quickly; dropping the animal hide bag of foraged goodies, and readying the first volley of spears.

The forest rang with angry bellows of; "DO YOU WANT F****** FRIES WITH THAT!!!"

As the bloody onslaught began.

**********

Silence soon returned to the jungle, an unnatural silence that was almost too quite. A foreboding kind of silence.

At its epicentre Ogre sat on a log, it had once been a proud tree before his latest skirmish started, just enjoying the peacefulness of the jungle as the grey smoke of experience wafted by.

His fights so far had served only to clear away the top layer of his stress before it accumulated but this latest high tension battle had been a real therapeutic deep clean. Cleansed his body felt lighter and he rotated his shoulders just to feel how loose they were.

He was reflecting on the fight in the tranquil afterglow of his victory.

The one problem that sought to spoil this rosy atmosphere was that if Ogre had one weakness then this latest fight had made it glaringly obvious. In the beginning he had tanked straight in, rushing his opponent without a care. He hadn't bargained on the rain of spears that greeted him.

The first couple he had barely avoided although he wasn't so fortunate with the second and third waves. Regardless he just pressed on relentlessly.

With their golf-club bag like quivers empty the ogre scouts tossed them aside and brandished their impressive clubs. While the two ogre grunts tightened their grip on the simple stone axes they carried. Ogre continued his ferocious charge not even slowing as he wrenched a wooden spear from where it had pierced his left shoulder; his body was covered in slowly seeping wounds caused by light grazes and glancing blows.

The head of their triangle formation readied his club as the other two scouts moved forward to join him in forming a defensive line.

Muscles bulging as he put more power into each step and with a small low leap forward Ogre covered the remaining distance and engaged the flesh wall head on. It buckled slightly but held firm.

After that it was business as usual.

He swung his own club to parry and beat back the clubs of the scouts. They met him blow for blow but as there were three of them, then more often than not Ogre took several hard hits head on.

He thought he had finally gained a foothold in their brawl as he landed an especially powerful blow that knocked one of his opponents a few feet to the left but this small victory ended quickly as the awaiting grunts took this opportunity to close the gap and begin their assault.

The party was well coordinated and it was difficult to hold off three half wounded foes especially now that two new fresh opponents lent their support. The ogre grunts didn't have the speed or strength of the scouts but they did have the same robust endurance inherent to all ogres.

They made full use of their stubborn will to live to harass him in the frenzied melee.

With their free hand they would try to catch hold of him, slowing or stopping his movement and while he was obstructed they would lash at him with their stone axes. As he focused on them then the scouts would move into better positions from which to strike.

Eventually, after much blood was shed on both sides, the first scout died.

It had been the one that had taken a heavy hit and was knocked back. After him first one, then followed in quick succession, the other ogre grunt fell. With their numbers dwindled and their support gone the last two scouts could only offer token resistance but still they did resist until the very bitter end.

On his log Ogre let out a deep long sigh.

'If they're long range attacks had dealt more damage or if they were able to heal out when they rotated fighters I probably would have died.'

And it was true, the current Ogre was lacking and Jon knew it. That had to change.

'I need to acquire warrior skills but they have to be skills that complement how I want to build Ogre'

The perfect picture of his Avatar; Ogre, that he held in his mind's eye, was that of a wild untamed bloodthirsty berserker and it wouldn't do to give him skills that conflicted with that rugged image.

No shield bash or Heavy Plate armour for him.

But all fighter type classes had several similar skills; taunts and cries for example. These were what Ogre needed but the first skill Jon wanted to give him was something else entirely.

'I need a long-range attack or a ranged pull skill.'

It was the one fatal flaw Ogre had. If he couldn't cover the distance quickly enough he would die pathetically under a rain of arrows or a hail of spells.

'I could use simple wooden javelins like those ogre scouts, good for long range and mid range combat? No that would mean carrying around a stack of them and probably learning > .'

And he had no intention of changing Ogre's fighting style. He needed a skill that was simple and straight forward but no matter how long he thought an answer still wouldn't come. He got himself stuck in a spiral of thoughts as all the throwing weapons he had seen resembled kunai or shuriken.

'A berserker-nin would be just plain wrong.'

He began to slowly mumble the problem, once more chanting black curses.

"Javelins.....throwing weapons.....thrown weapons......thrown................throw!!"

As though the light bulb had exploded above his head, he was suddenly graced by a single stroke of particular genius. Ogre grinned wickedly as the thought wave crystallised into an idea.

He didn't need a spear skill he needed a throw skill.

Simple and straight forward enough to only enhance his perfect Ogre image. With that he hopped off the log, scooped up his loot and without even bothering to check it returned to his rock wall rest stop.

Hours later small piles of stone rubble littered the jungle floor around the Barbarians feet.

He had spent all that time pitching stones, from pebbles to rocks, at the impact crater target he had smashed into a nearby tree trunk. Under arm didn't seem manly and definitely would not be able to give the power he needed, while over arm just didn't have the accuracy.

He wound up another slider and pitched it hard at the target. As with most of his "balls" after several shots at the target they eventually crumbled to dust. This latest sacrifice exploded into a dust cloud on impact, propelling little shards into the surrounding vegetation.

Ogre looked down at his feet, none of the pile he had collected remained. The closest thing was easily a small boulder. He was a little frustrated that he hadn't gotten anything yet, even after pulverising all those stones, so he squatted down and brought all his barbarian strength to bear in his attempt to lift the thing.

Hefting it up he could feel veins popping on his face as he jerked the stone up to shoulder height and hoofed it several yards.

It flew in a low arc before gravity re-exerted its full control over it and it was forced to land. It did a couple of small defiant rolls before stopping abruptly.

-: You have learned Throwing skill. :-

-: This skill allows you to throw various objects. You may exert 25% of your strength when you throw; increasing ranged attack power, ranged speed and ranged critical hit chance. :-

-: Throwing Skill: Beginner Level: 1 (0.0%) :-

He read it over twice.

The part that intrigued him the most was the line that read 'various objects'.

Memories of the days when he dabbled in Pathfinder came back to him. Especially the moment he had decided to create a barbarian build around the 'Improvised Weapon' and 'Throw anything' skills for his next group campaign.

Sadly his life had taken off and he was forced to shelf his character sheets and dice.

Thinking it over maybe it was this legacy of his forgotten character that had helped him create Ogre and the picture in his mind was so vividly clear, as it had always been how he had wanted that character to turn out.

Shaking himself loose from the fuzzy wave of nostalgia Ogre took his Ball-headed War club and slammed it into the rock face. A dull thud reverberated but nothing more happened. He hit it again and again until several chunks of it dislodged themselves from the wall higher up.

They hurtled down with almost visible killing intent.

Ogre jogged a couple of paces back and waited.

He didn't have to wait long as several of the largest pieces smashed into the ground. Throwing up clouds of dust as they half buried themselves. Then the rest rained down on top of them, some chipped and some shattered.

Once the rock storm was over Ogre moved forward, dusting himself off, from where he had been standing. He looked joyfully at the rocky midden in front of him.

"Now time to level my new throwing skill."

Grinning he picked up the nearest chunk and hurled it with full force at his crude target.

He continued with this for several more hours, rocks flew like bullets into the jungle canopy late into the dark hours of the night. Occasionally he would gain experience from killing something in the forest or his erratic shot would aggro something, that would then come charging out of the undergrowth, only to be met by several more fast flying stones and a heavy wooden club smash.

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