As the days pass I feel the hand of Gorum heavy on my shoulder. His eyes the red glow lighting my path through the blades of my enemies, but the path of Gorum is red for a reason. If it is not painted with blood by you, then it is your blood that will color the way into the clouded realm of death. Your soul the cloud escaping with the steam of your last breath.
We fought two fist fulls of giants and more and only slew one. It was the largest, another of the kind that almost felled me, but we had to escape before they flattened us all. Insects between their toes.
They were ready for our tactics. So we changed ours. We no longer hunt them in packs. We have decided to strike for their heart through the cliffs. The elf sent his creature to scout and discovered caves in the cliff wall and we scaled down to them.
There were dead things inside, shaped like spiders they struck with fang and poison and web. The sticker fell ill from their bite, but it was little bother to me.
We wait here to continue in a silk draped cave among corpses. Gorum would be pleased.