There’s been this move that’s been floating around in my head. It will work. The idea is to strike high and hard, but at the same time tangle the legs and feet. Done correctly, the target stumbles some distance and falls. Applied correctly, the target falls with quite a lot of force. Timed correctly, the target flies into a comrade or two and takes them to the floor with him. It was my first chance to try it, and I did none of these things right.
I hadn’t counted on the strength required to pull off such a feet. One attempt, mid combat, and that was it. Exhaustion. Even in a miss it’s unbelievable. So much so that I fumbled my follow up attack. My arms so sapped of strength that I nearly dropped my dagger. For the duration of this battle I’ll not be able to attempt it again. More’s the pity. I was thinking how much fun it would be to see Tusk and a few of his lackeys struggling to stand up, while I’m standing on top of them, my acidic dagger cutting deep. That thought alone makes me wonder why some spend so much time fantasizing about the opposite sex.
True confession time. This whole experience gives me renewed respect for Tarque. I try one strength based maneuver and it nearly takes me out of the fight. Our lumbering behemoth plants himself squarely in the middle of the pack of dogs and beats on them. I spend considerable energy trying to avoid getting hit. Pain, damage, and injury doesn’t seem to bother him all that much. Tarque: A truly unique combination of muscle, kindness, and crazy.