Stark
Two large trolls were killing merchants, they had several arrows embedded in their skin, and the blood of archer's running along their fists. Assorted weaponry lay about them, some of it with arms still clutching it, bodies were less likely to still be attached to the arms. The remaining survivors seemed to be mainly comprised of non-combatants, the guards had already been dispatched with extreme prejudice. Now the only people they were killing were unarmed peddlers, doing their best to file, but unable to match the speed of the long strides of the trolls. A few were getting away, the ones smart enough to scatter, but splitting up in the wilderness rarely resulted in anything but death. The situation was hopeless.
Let it be, then. He'd seen hopeless before.
He had managed to get back up, despite a stray punch early on in the encounter knocking him into a tree, and cracking several of his ribs. He wouldn't just accept it. He'd die fighting. Stark picked his lance up off the ground back where he had been punched, and charged at one of the trolls, the larger of the two, who had been happily picking up merchants and throwing them into their faster companions. The troll, 14 feet tall, took a second to realize the lance that had just been shoved through it's gut. It very angrily lashed out at Stark, with a few large, sweeping blows, clearly not strategically planned. They seemed more like attempts to swat at an insect that had just stung then an effort against a real opponent. His mistake. Or it would have been if Stark had managed to get the lance out of his skin before having to roll away from the two foot wide fist coming at him before the giant started moving. He was unarmed.
Wait, there were plenty of arms lying around...so to speak. Nothing looking like the halberd stile of lance he usually used, but plenty of javelins and swords. Those would do in a pinch. Stark hurled a javelin at the big SOB, it didn't penetrate skin, instead bouncing harmlessly off. Stark's javelin form was less than perfect. He'd probably do better with a sword. Or at least, he would if he could get one from a dead man's grasp. For a while, it was a morbidly comical sight, the one of Stark trying to wrestle the hilt from the already icy grip of a severed arm, flailing it about. He did get it eventually though, and felt more comfortable with it then a throwing weapon. He found out very quickly the little sword wasn't suited for combat with the troll, though. It barely scratched at the creatures arms while it took swings. It didn't even take note that Stark was fighting back. Stark angrily thrust it aside, wishing he could just grab his halberd back, but knowing he wouldn't get close enough without a decent weapon like his halberd to keep him safe getting there. Irony was a cruel mistress.
Stark backed up, trying to buy time to think of something better to do, but he should have spent more time checking behind him, if he had, he probably wouldn't have tripped over the body of Nolan, kind of a pompous knight from Alabaste. He was an alright guy, once you got to know him. Not that it helped him stay alive. If Stark had the time to really analyze it, he might have thought himself a bad person for grabbing Nolan's broadsword with a quick boot to his dead fingers as a prompt to let it go. In the moment though, it just seemed like the thing to do, and that was all that mattered.
It felt much better in Stark's hands then the little sword. It had some real heft to it, like his halberd. He could see why Nolan was so fond of it. It had a much smoother flow to it then Stark's Halberd, and carried enough weight to really hurt pretty much anything it hit. He liked it. Not that he really took much note of it while the trolls were both now focusing on him, the large one giving an angry growl ordering the other to come help with this annoying human. The merchants were all running away now. Still scattering. Idiots. If they were smart they would run together, most lesser monsters wouldn't attack a group if it had enough numbers but a large group running in such scattered pockets may as well have lunch tattooed all over them.
Stark had bigger problems right now, an easy 1800 pounds of them.Stark figured his only chance was to get one goblin to smack the other, to get between them and force a friendly fire hit. Unfortunately for Stark, the trolls weren't as stupid as he though, when he tried it, one backed off and the other went full bore swinging at him. Fortunately for Stark, the troll definitely did notice when he struck back with his new broadsword. He was wounding it, and that gave him new confidence. His first that was to try and scale the arm of the thing, get to the top of it, but that was dumb and would never work. Instead he opted for a less direct road to the top. Or rather, a road to the bottom...
He charged inward, past a crushing blow from above, to where the halberd was still lodged in it's stomach, the troll, figuring he was trying to reclaim his weapon, made to top him. But he wasn't trying to recover his weapon. It could stay there, for all he cared. Instead he kept running, in between the creatures legs, and took a two handed swipe at one of the creature's heels, or just above it, at the Achilles tendon. He wasn't even sure if trolls had one, but as it turned out, they did. The troll dropped to one knee, the other getting notably angry and ready to come help. But not before Stark slashed the other tendon and took the larger troll to the ground and out of the fight. He ran across the fallen body, still dodging wild pain-filled swings of the arms, and plunged his sword into the monster's neck. The struggling got more intense, enough to toss Star off (this time he had the sense to hold tightly to his weapon and take it with him). Soon it stopped, though. The troll was dead. Stark took a second to appreciate what he had just done, but it turned out to be a second too long. The other troll hadn't stopped to mourn his fallen companion, opting instead to take advantage of the distraction and deal with Stark.
The troll had Stark in between both of his giant hands, crushing the life slowly out of the spearman turned swordsman. Enjoying it, taking it's time. It knew there was no one else around to help him, and he had proven to be quite a nuisance. Trolls didn't let nuisances die fast. They got to feel every excruciating moment before finally getting the sweet release of death. Excuciating was a good word for it too. Stark was blind with pain. He couldn't remember where he was, or why he felt all this pain. He had no idea what lead to this course of events, he would be hard pressed to give his name if asked right now. He was completely lost in the vice grip of the troll. Death was clod, very cold. Icy, actually...
Wait, it didn't hurt any more. What was going on? Stark dared to open his eyes, figuring maybe he was dead, that Lightkratos had spared him those last agonizing moments of life. The icy corpse of the troll about 10 yards from him told him differently. There was a man not too far from him, looking around, it seemed, checking for any other survivors.
"Who... Who are you?" Stark barely managed to sputter out.
~~~
"Stark." Someone's voice was calling him, or just talking to him, not really calling. "Stark." Friendly voice. "Stark, I've got to go. I've started something that I'll have to see through now. It would just get you and your friends killed if you tried to come along. Please understand." Stark didn't respond, he just slipped back into unconsciousness.
