<div class="floatleft">(https://img00.deviantart.net/c62f/i/2017/260/f/2/felannar_commission_by_tamikaproud-dbm5te2.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Oxenbridge Hewitt</span></span><br/>Character Sheet (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1383223)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The smoke-filled air burnt his lungs like acid, but that did not prevent Ox from gasping for air like a bull with a broken nose.  He snorted and snarled as he neared his prey, and with a viscious grunt, he drove his knee into the guardsman's helm.  The impact was thunderous.  Ox thought he could feel the man's face lose its structure and collapse into mush.  The blow was so violent that Ox hurtled through the air and collapsed next to him.  Laying there, Ox could hear the man's life expire, and for a moment, the elven fighter felt something resembling sympathy.  For a fleeting moment, Ox was sorry.  But then he remembered what the guardsman did.  He remembered how he had helped kill Cris's father in front of her.  He remembered how that old man cried in pain.  He remembered how pathetic Cris looked when she thought she would meet the same end.  And that made him furious.  Ox was not sorry.  Ox was happy that the man was drowning on his teeth.<br/><br/>As he rose back to his feet, he could see that the other guardsmen had surrounded him.  Ox was grateful to them.  He had gotten tired of running back and forth across the stage to take them down, so it was nice of them to group together.  He wiped his nose with his forearm, in the way that he often did before a fight, and lifted his large mitts, preparing himself for battle.  But these men weren't going to fight fair.  Guards never fought fair.  He knew that way before one of them had managed to entangle him with a net.<br/><br/>He cursed and spat.<br/><br/>"You ornery cowards," he hissed as he fought against the net to free himself,  "fight like men!"<br/><br/>Ox fell to a knee when the tip of a nearby blade scraped a bone in his thigh.  The pain was manageable, but the cut dug deep because Ox saw it as an insult.  They were going to murder him like a rabid dog.  They were going to pile up on him and bleed him until he couldn't move any more, and then, and only then, would they kill him in a manner similar to Cris's father.  In a fashion that was cruel and devoid of honor.<br/><br/>Even if that was the case, he was going to keep fighting.  Although defeat seemed certain, he would not be defeated before he was driven from the mortal coil.<br/><br/>As he reached to grab a man in front of him, the man fell face first to the ground.  That was...  unusual.  The man then started to slam his face into the floor.  Ox caught the eye of another guard, and he seemed to be as perplexed as Ox.  But then that man fell to the ground and started slamming his head at the same pace as the first man.  Ox silently searched the room, and though he could hear other skulls joining in, he couldn't see them.<br/><br/>But then, Ox found that he could not move.  Would he join in the symphony?  No.  Not just then.  But each time someone new fell, he was reminded that he could be next.  Then, he saw it.  A flying skull.  What did it mean?  He had never seen anything like it.  There was something... antagonizing about it.  Something horrible.  And though he couldn't force himself to look away, he felt like he could just let go of his consciousness.  But he didn't.  He refused to be cowed.  He willed himself to look the skull in the eye.  And he muttered:<br/><br/>"What the hell are you?"  He didn't want to know.  He knew that he didn't.  But if he was going to die, his killer would know him to be insolent to his last breath.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Roll Result: PhantomPistoleer rolled: 1d20, adding 1 to the total<br/>Comment: <br/>Result: 20, <br/>Total: 21<br/></div></div>