The creature with its face burnt from Ludwig's torch tripped and fell back, morphing in agony from the blue flames.
"What the hell is this? Gdal! How Envious, to have embraced the spirit of the mountain before me!" The Ogre said as he twirled his weapon and pointed it forward. "I, your brother Dedal, will avenge you!"
Dedal's voice boomed in the narrow space between the blue torches and the fogline, the sound bouncing off wood and stone and coming back wrong, as if the mountain itself was eager to repeat anything loud.
His grief looked like rage because ogres didn't mourn quietly; they mourned by swinging something heavy at the nearest thing they could blame. The "brother" on the ground, whatever had been wearing that face, still writhed and smoked under the blue torch fire, its skin bubbling and sliding as it fought the blue light with desperate, childish screams.
"Calm down," Ludwig said as he grabbed Dedal's shoulder.
