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My master and I were sailing his fishing boat further out when came upon an inky-black part of the sea. He had been teaching me the second lesson in judo recently, and so we went ashore to practice on a rust-brown sandy beach.
The thing that attacked us he called an ‘ork’ later. He swung a spiked ball on a chain riveted and plated to where his left hand should have been and had an odd scimitar in his right hand.
He hit the stump of a tree as I dodged. My master pushed a dagger into the chain and twisted. As the chain broke, the ork swung his blade. My master dodged, and the blade cleaved the old stump, but lodged there. My master put a thumb-lock on the ork, and it TORE LOOSE OF ITS OWN THUMB. In spinning to attack my master again, it caught its right foot under its own blade and tore it off. Roaring, it limped after us down the beach. We reached the boat without issue. I asked my master whether we should kill it out of mercy.
My master pointed at it wedging a boulder loose from the muddy shore, and asked, “Mercy for it or for its next foe?”
It heaved that boulder over fifteen man-lengths in our direction. It landed a mere hand-span from our boat and nearly capsized us. We sailed on. *orcs