What follows is a completely unembellished account of my completely insane encounter just now.
So, I'm striding up this staircase, a dozen Draugh draped limply over the steps, feeling pretty damned good. I got my sword and shield, just waded through half an undead army, effortlessly blocking attacks, following up with counters, and generally shrugging off anything that came my way like I was some kind of slow moving tsunami.
And as I mount the final step, I pause... the fuck is that thing? o.O Slumped in his throne is a Draugh Death Lord, in black, horned armour. It stirs, eyes flare into life, and it rises from it's chair, drawing it's black sword and warbling. Now, I had never seen one of these before... so instead of rushing it, I held ground and simply watched for a second, waiting for it's first move. Then I hear it's dry throat rasp, Fus, Ro, DAH! I fly back and slam into the low roof, crashing down onto the stairs and rolling to the floor in a heap.
It hefts it's sword and stalks down after me. I raise up just in time to bring up my shield, but it's attack is so strong it makes me stagger backwards, barely keeping on my feet. It comes again, but I slam my shield into it's stomach and climb the stairs, swinging wildly up at it's legs and chest, driving it back a few more steps, then bringing my shield up again to catch it's return strike, deflecting it and pushing the attack again.
My strikes were doing almost nothing, and every return blow was like a battering ram, intent on smash my shield aside, and killing me even through my guard! I backed up out of the way of one strike and covered the space with a lunge, smashing down the middle of it's helmet and pushing it back with a pained wheeze. I had it! I thought to myself. Just keep pushing, and not let it have an inch.
But then it shoves me back with a powerful swing and drew in breath, screeching it's Thu'um through me like a wave, and batting my sword and shields from my hands! I was defenceless, and it raked the old blade across my chest plate, making me stagger backwards down the stairs. Enough, I thought. Drawing in deep, I filled my lungs, and shook the hall with my booming roar. FUS RO DAH! The wave of raw power crashed into the Deathlord and carried it up the stairs, flying into it's throne and slumping against it.
My weapon... I looked around, but could not see it, and couldn't afford to go looking. It was down, but not out. Surely I had a dagger in my pack, something sharp, or heavy, anything! I pad about on my waist strap and find a handle!
A... pickaxe? o.O I look down at the dull, bent mining tool, not sure if laughter or growling would be more appropriate, but then I hear the clanking and rustling of the injured Draugh pulling itself up out of it's chair. It would have to do! I thought, and charged up the stairs, bringing the pickaxe down into it's sunken eye, slamming it's helmet back into the chair. Again, again, and again, I swing, bludgeoning it across each cheek, smashing it's jaw in, breaking it's horns off, cracking it's old and delicate bones! It wheezes and groans, struggling to rise, and I grip the handle, watching the broken and battered old corpse writhe in it's chair. And then, I bring the pickaxe down, and lodge it in it's face. I leave it there, and turn to scale the stairs.
This was going to make an interesting tale at the Bee and Barb.