One of the fun things about Boss Fight Studio’s HACKS is the ability to part swap and make new figures/characters without needing to paint or sculpt. I’ve been wanting to do a fantasy version of their Greek series character, Stonefist, for awhile and finally got it done. And of course, he needed a quick story to go with him.
His sword pierced the orc’s armor, through the body and out the back. He let the body fall, taking the sword with it. Holding out his now free hand, he pointed it at the last two orcs and uttered the incantation.
Flames burst from his outstretched palm, flying towards the green skinned creatures. They tried to move, to get out of the way, but the magical fires were too fast. The flames engulfed the creatures, setting their clothes on fire, the sound of sizzling fur and flesh filling the air. First the sound and then the stench.
Lowering his hand, turning away from the sounds of the dying orcs, Stonefist bent down and retrieved his sword. Blood flew from the orc’s wound, the creature still gasping for air. Stepping on the orc, he slid the flat of the blade across the creatures fur lining, wiping the blood off. Satisfied, Stonefist put his weapon back in it’s scabbard.
The leatherbound book hanging from his belt slapped against his leg as he walked away from the carnage, stopping to grab his shield. He slung it over his shoulder, pulling his hood up over his bald head, and without a glance walked away from the clearing and into the deeper forest.
The book of spells hit his leg, sometimes hitting the metal armor. It was annoying and Stonefist hated it. Using the magic left a bitter taste in his mouth and he felt a corrupting influence on his soul.
But what did that matter, he thought as he made his way through the forest, he wasn’t going to die. Not for a long time.
Thanks to magic and that accursed Medusa.
He was already old, impossibly old, but still felt and looked the same as he had when Medusa had first looked upon him. How he had survived where so many did not. Gouging out his own eyes mid-transformation had somehow increased his senses. He no longer needed his eyes to see. His ears and other senses guides him better than eyes ever would or could.
Stonefist could feel the magic around him. Gorgon magic.
Remnants coming off the orcs? The creatures were not native to this world, brought here by the wild magic unleashed by Stheno.
There was much the gorgons had to answer for. Unleashing the orcs upon the world was just one of them.
His book tapped against his lap again and he sighed, adjusting the belt from which it hung. A special book, transcribed into a language he could understand by Felonious. As much as he hated it, Stonefist had come to the realization that he needed to know magic to fight magic.
And it had its uses.
Stretching his shoulders, the armor creaking, he looked around the forest using his senses. There were more orcs nearby. Possibly a naga or two, his real targets. The orcs would die but he did not go out of his way to find those creatures. It was the naga he was after, the cursed offspring of Achilles and Eurayle.
Poor Achilles, he thought, continuing to walk. What a sad fate for such a proud warrior.
He ran his hand, the one of flesh, over the armor. It would need to be repaired. Battered and dented, it was not his. Mismatched, he had recovered it from a battlefield years ago. Taken from a slain Knight of Accord. It did its job. Like him. Not pretty, mismatched, but effective.
Stonefist smiled and drew his sword.
He heard them creeping through the forest, trying to be quiet and stealthy. And failing. The strange sight he had developed, that worked off echoes of sounds, easily picked the shapes of the creatures out from the surrounding trees. He could hear heartbeats, almost taste the rage coming from them.
Orcs, five of the hunters.
“Come creatures,” he said loud enough for them to hear. “Come and die.”