Angus stood up and held out a massive hand. "Good eyes, Big Bob. I'm a troll." Christ, what a tool. But any port in a storm, right?
"So," Angus began, gesturing at the scavenger crabs that were carrying someone's body parts out of the room through one of the doors. "Seems to me like these little buggers have to be going somewhere, right? What say we take a look-see and see if we can find something big and bad that we might lure one--"
Angus was cut off as the massive six-legged eel-beast suddenly decided that Rupert looked like a snack, and struck, snakelike, toward the hellhound.
"Look out!" Angus barked, and shoved Rupert aside. Bob grabbed the dog as the eel grabbed Angus in it's jaws, lifted him into the air, and started to squeeze. Angus grunted in pain. The tiny eel teeth bit through his leather jacket and worked into his thick trollish skin. The smell of fish washed over him, and Angus swallowed hard to keep the bile down. DisGUSTing!
Working one hand free, he popped the pin of of a flak grenade and dropped it down the eel's throat. Several seconds later, Angus and Rupert were thrown several feet back and covered in eel guts.
I'm the fifth Horseman, he thought: People Covered in Fish.
Terry Pratchet always made everything better.
He started wiping himself down. Well, the fish smell definiately overpowers the troll smell now.
"Hey, Big Bob, you OK?"
Big Bob was looking at the crabs again.
