Rífa og rífa í hvert bein.
You grab the staff, and sprint towards the growling and snarling beast, even as you hear the snapping of the bones in the druid's arm. The old man just grits his teeth, glaring up at the creature.
Það fer enginn aftur heim.
You swing the staff as hard as you can. It isn't the fighting of an expert, you're no fighter. All the same, you are swinging a heavy glass globe down into the bare and exposed brain of a creature that you're half-certain is alive.
It hits with a splodge and splatter. Brain and blood spray your hands and face.
Ég ætla að taka líf þitt.
You spit, surprised by the impact, and then stare in fear as the creature slams the druid into the ground one last time, before turning to face you with a snarl and growl.
Eins og ég sting þig með hnífnum mínum.
It steps deliberately towards you, mouth dripping with the fluids of the druid. You try hitting the skull again, striking hard enough that you knock the staff from your hands, but the creature doesn't seem to have even noticed the blow.
Best að hlaupa.
You scream as the wolf pounces.