Lobah stripped down to her underclothing, caring nothing for modesty as she prepared to chop kindling behind her small cottage. With a heavy woodsman’s axe in her hand she began to split the logs, preparing for the coming winter. The work soon had her in a sweat, and she hammered away, creating a big pile of firewood.
Her ears raised, and she tought she heard footsteps. Heavy ones. Floating up the side of a cliff came a small cry.
“What?” she asked aloud, taking a different grip on the axe. If some wild animal had come this way, all rabid and crazy, she’d have to dispatch it quick.
“Lobah!” came a cry. It was followed by a thud.
Lobah shifted, broadened her nose, and feeling the wild power of her animal soul oepning up. Strength and vigor flowed into her, and the whole world of smells opened up. Somewhere she smelled joint oil, and pressed wood. It seemed familiar.
Warforged? Lobah thought to herself, having found a memory of a similar smell from long ago. The answer was affirmative, as two of the machine-men came charging towards her from around a tree. Each held a greatsword in both hands, blades already dripping with blood. Down the road she saw five more of their ilk attacking children.
“FILTH!” she screamed, throwing herself into combat. She hurt one, then decapitated its comrade. “Attack!” she screamed as she fought. “Attack!”
Whether her words of alarm were heard would never be known to her. Another group of warforged came from one side. Surrounded by them, she died with defiance on her lips.
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