Drabble for a tank: Ozruk

Ozruk. Head-on. Fear folded, tucked away.
“Ready?”
The gang of four standing at her side had no idea how loaded that question was. Cutting into his craggy midsection, his breath smelling of putrid talcum, like a damp baby. Hammer cracked rocks. Matty’s elements were weak. It takes too long to cut a rock with water.
Hooves, sliding, digging in, retrenching. The warlock decimated the obsidian pustules of his scaly, soulless shell. The healer kept her heart beating. The others: abandoned. Not very champion like.
“I may never be as beautiful, or as silvery-tongued as she.”
“But I brought him down.”
Luperci’s first encounter sparring with Ozruk.

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