Godrick cracks his knuckles. "Alright, kid. You ready for your first real fight?"
Roscoe nods, gripping his sword tight. His hands tremble slightly, but his eyes burn with determination.
"Just stick close, eh?" Godrick grins. "And when in doubt - hit 'em harder."
Their team holds the higher ground, a natural incline giving them a perfect vantage point.
Roscoe raises a foam bomb in his hand, looking toward the incoming horde. "On your mark, Godrick."
But just before they can start throwing the bombs down the hill, a sudden burst comes from the woods behind them.
The two whip their heads around, unsure of what they are seeing. Whatever it is - it's grotesque.
A writhing mass of decayed flesh and limbs appears to have fallen from the sky, or manifested with magic. An abomination forged from no fewer than twenty humans, and it lumbers toward their group. It's encased in bony armor, a mix of sharp bones and rib cages forming a protective shell around the meatball.
