With my sword figuratively sheathed, so as to consolidate what little virility that had been dwindled by the previous skirmish, focused purely on respondent deflection of Zog’s impending attack to which he curtly obliged. I successfully parried once, twice, thrice and the final fourth blow before commencing my own retaliation, duly aware of the frailty and vulnerable predicament I would be facing if I didn’t expedite my combative proclivities. I paused temporarily reflecting on our previous encounters, positing the correct method to vanquish this perpetuating foe. “Zog, Zog, Zog!” chanted his acolytes as he strode out with exalted rancour, though I’m confident many were hoping I could dispose him from his privileged position, coveted by his subordinates. During our first encounter he’s reputed notoriety proved to be validated by his swift displacement of my mortality, as I rushed in confident of my own skill, besting the throng of orcs that pervaded my mobility, but with Zog alerted to my presence I had to retaliate before my strategic professions were suitably implemented. Though I can still recant that moment with frigid lucidity, it had been some time since our last engagement as he had alluded me as I pursued other avenues of interest, but his innocuous presence was always a palpable blip on my map, inciting cursory glances at his now bolstered statistics ascribed to his improved resiliency to specific attacks.
Gaining purchase proved illusive on my second, more misanthropic endeavour, represented by my marginally contested sparring between Zog and myself. I ascertained an assured route for concealed infiltration in an attempt to revoke his ancillary subordinates while utilising my dead acquaintances ethereal, sensory perceptions to calculate numbers. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. Dispersing the expansive contingent of urik was further compounded by the bolstered support of captains and armoured goblins that had arrived, detracting from any combat I had reserved for Zog. Finally I succumbed to the berating assaults and poisonous ligature contusions that a human would likely sustain that again merely consolidated his resolve. “Zog, Zog, Zog” echoing through the rustic bastions, garrisoned by a mobilised contingent that infuses Zog’s own verbal deprecating assessment of my own reprimanded skill, with brevity one of the few words not in his expressive vocabulary. Buckled under the weight of my own humility, I slumped to the floor and was once again thwarted by my latent dexterity as I was additionally unable to negotiate the reticle into circular preserver to prevent another death. After perishing I was bitter, but fortified my consuming ferocity and finally empathized with the motivations portrayed in revenge movies. I persisted in my quest for sated deliverance and reformed vacancy of respect, driven by his acidic tongue and manacled, snarling smugness!
“Without assistance from Celebrimbor, Zog and his minions would likely have continually killed me for eternity.”
After a brief resistance from the odious inhabitants of the mangled fortification, I began in earnest replacing their cartilage with gaping cavities and nullifying their vertical height, as their heads skittered across the desolate plains of Mordor. Mercifully the suppository of defiance’s abated and Zog and I’s final showdown could promptly commence with minimum interruption. I had to be assertive now, nimbly deflecting his lunging attacks before commencing a barrage of critically piercing slices. Though I probably imagined this, but his face contorted his repellent features, gnarled by my sudden provocations. I had him! I circled his lumbering posture, intermittently slashing at his exposed torso just enough to sustain negligible increments of time to rejuvenate my own declining health, fortifying my resilience with continually evasive movement. The rapidity of my slashes began to pay dividends as he lurched with cumbersome motility in an attempt to reciprocate my own brutal onslaught, with his berating ripostes simply vacuous professions. Zog’s meek offensive had been further diminished by fatigue, as I finally placed my palm on his seemingly concussed head and extracted the pertinent location on another war chief, before his head was impaled on a rusty pike and Mordor’s unique judicial system had come to a close. Now it was time to locate the other 4.
What is your most satisfying victory in any game?
