by Pirateaba
A Human had loosed the arrow. Perhaps he had mistaken the young woman for a Ghoul—or perhaps he had just seen what she’d looked like and shot. But the arrow had struck the young woman all the same.
She fell, and the zombies she’d been running towards surrounded her, biting. Tearing. Headscratcher ran into them, slashing wildly. Two zombies fell as he ran them through, shoving them aside. An arrow killed a third and then the other Redfang warriors were around him. They forced the zombies back as Headscratcher held the young woman in his arms.
He reached for the arrow and stopped. It was too deep, and the monster in his arms—
Was no monster. She was just a young woman, bleeding, torn.
Dying. She blinked up at the Goblin who held her, and wondered why she’d never imagined a Goblin could cry. Of course they could. It was such a simple thing, but it just proved her point.
They were people too.
She reached up and tried to brush the tear from Headscratcher’s eyes. But she was too weak. Her arm flopped back and the young woman coughed. She blinked down at the blood in astonishment.
Around her, the other Goblins were tearing at their packs, searching their belts. But they had no potions. Just the one they’d used for Grunter. The Hobgoblin knelt next to the girl, staring at her.
She smiled at them. Weakly. Dying. But then her head rose, and she stared at the Humans. They were so very fragile, so alone.
She pointed. The Goblins looked. The young woman touched her heart, once. It was still beating, slowly. That was all. She touched her heart and drew a line in blood down her cheek.
Asking a question no words could ever say.
This is the story of a Goblin who held a dying Human in his arms. The other warriors stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shields raised, protecting her from the few arrows that flew towards them. They snarled at the Humans on the barricades, watching as the undead pushed them further and further back.
The Goblin held the Human in his arms, staring at death. It was all around him, and in the burning purple eyes of the skeleton surrounded by the undead. He stared at death, but he only had eyes for the Human.
She spoke to him, words that he and all the Goblins heard, even amidst the fighting. The Goblin listened, head bowed, until she choked on the blood and he carried her away from the fighting, protected by his friends.
He laid her in a quiet place, away from the battlefield. Next to a dying fire in a place where she would be safe. Then the Goblin turned back and stared at death. Beside him, twelve other Goblins stood quietly. They looked at each other. And heard their hearts beating.
This is the story of a band of fools. They charged, screaming, at an army of thousands. Goblins and undead both turned to stare at them, and the Humans on the walls stopped firing as they saw the band of thirteen Goblins, fighting for something they didn’t quite understand.
Headscratcher was first. He ran, cutting wildly, knocking other warriors aside, darting past zombies. He didn’t care that they cut at him, ignored the arrows that flew at him, the moments when he stared death in the face. He only had eyes for the skeleton, standing among the zombies.
He ran, and ten Goblins followed his back, fighting as one, struggling for every step. But two Goblins did not follow them. One was Badarrow, who stood with an arrow nocked, firing into the mill of bodies. The other was Grunter.
Grunter. The Hobgoblin turned and ran in another direction. Away? The other Redfang warriors faltered. But the Hob turned and stared at them for one moment. Then he spoke.
“Go.”
One word. And then he plunged away through the mass of bodies. He didn’t dodge like Headscratcher. Instead, Grunter charged through the ranks of undead and Goblin alike. Zombies were hurled away from him, screaming Goblin warriors trampled underfoot. Grunter held his axe in his left hand and roared as he ran.
He had only one target. The Goblin commander astride his Shield Spider. At first, the other Goblin didn’t see Grunter among the Goblins. But soon the Goblin noticed the change in the battlefield.
In a sea of swirling fighting where the lines of black-armored Goblins and zombies pushed each other back and forth, Grunter cut a straight line to the Goblin commander. He couldn’t be stopped! Spears broke against his skin, swords cut but were wrenched away from their owner’s grip. Grunter ran on, bleeding from two dozen wounds, but still ran.
“You! Challenge!”
The word was a roar from Grunter’s mouth. The Goblins and Humans stopped fighting as they stared at the Hob charging at the other Goblin. The Goblin commander sneered. He raised a hand; pointed.
Another Hob, just as large as Grunter, ran forwards, screaming, sword in hand as he tried to slow the Redfang warrior’s advance. Grunter roared and swung his axe. The crushing blade crashed down even as the other Hob tried to block. The axe sheared through the sword and crushed the other Goblin’s head. Grunter wrenched the blade free and the Hob’s body fell.
Silence. Grunter raised his axe, gleaming with blood and gore.
“Redfang!”
It was a word none of the Humans knew. But among the Goblins, it caused silence. Who didn’t know of that famous tribe, of the warrior who had walked among other races?
Garen Redfang and his tribe of warriors. Even in the south, his name was legend. Grunter shouted again, pointing his axe at the Goblin commander.
Now the other Goblin hissed, his eyes flashing blood-red. He pulled his spider around and faced Grunter. The other Goblins fell away as the two ran at each other, the Hob bleeding, one arm raised with the axe, the gleaming halberd held in the other Goblin’s hand.
“Redfang!”
Grunter screamed as he brought the axe down. The blow cleaved through the air, unstoppable. The Goblin commander threw himself off of his mount’s back, and the blow smashed the giant Shield Spider into the ground. It shrieked and died.
But it had taken Grunter’s axe. The Hob pulled at the blade, trying to wrench it free, but too slowly. The halberd came up and then the Hob was stumbling back. He stared at his stump of a hand and heard the Goblin commander laugh. The other Goblin advanced towards him, halberd raised.
The Hob was still for a second. Then his other hand moved. His broken arm grabbed the axe and lifted it. Jagged yellow bone broke through Grunter’s skin, but he only grunted. Then the axe was in the air.
The Goblin commander raised his halberd, snarling, but too slow. The axe fell through the sky, changing the confidence to fear in the Goblin’s eyes. Grunter screamed.
“REDFANG!”
The blow shook the earth. It broke his arm completely. Bone and flesh splintered as his hand twisted, dangling uselessly from his arm. Grunter sat down, staring at his useless arms as the other Goblins and Humans stared at what remained of the Goblin commander, the halberd lying broken on the ground.
The black-armored Goblins hesitated. But then they rushed at Grunter, screaming. He stood and knocked one down with his bloody stump. He kicked another hard enough to break the Goblin’s bones. Then he was falling, pierced by countless blades.
Grunter lay down on the ground and stared at his own blood. With a great effort he turned onto his back and stared at the grey sky. He grunted. And smiled once before the Goblins covered him.
—-
Badarrow saw Grunter fall. He screamed and shot the Goblin who’d killed him. But there were so many. And the Goblins saw him, saw the Goblin shooting at their friends.
Arrows flew towards Badarrow, hundreds of them. Like rain. He dove for cover behind a fat corpse, letting it absorb the deadly arrows. So many.
The Goblin commander was dead, and so the Goblins were faltering. But there were still others, weren’t they? Badarrow had seem them, two [Shamans] hiding behind the others, commanding a group of undead they’d managed to gain control of.
They had to die. For Grunter. For using the dead. Badarrow didn’t hesitate. He selected two arrows, his very best. The ones he knew would fly furthest, straightest. He stood from behin
d the corpse and drew the first arrow to his chest. He loosed it.
The arrow flew across the battlefield. It caught the first [Shaman] as he stood behind a group of zombies, pointing and laughing. He grasped the arrow as it sprouted from his chest and fell, gasping.
The other [Shaman] pointed and screamed. He turned to run, and the second arrow found his ear. Badarrow grinned, and laughed as he saw the other Goblins turning. This time there was nowhere to hide.
So many arrows. Like rain! They struck him, one finding his chest, another his leg, the last his shoulder. Badarrow stumbled and fell.
—-
Headscratcher did not see either of his friends fall. He ran on, sword drawn, screaming. The zombies were everywhere, as were the black-armored Goblins. He cut at them.
Too many enemies. Then a zombie came swinging at Headscratcher from the right, five more on the left. Headscratcher saw another Goblin run past him. Rocksoup took the blows meant for him. He gasped as the zombies tore his flesh away, cut one down. Two. The third took his sword and then he was fighting with his hands against the other two. They bore him down as he stared at Headscratcher, mouthing silently as his eyes lost their light.
Telling him to run.
The ten Goblins ran on, not pausing as they left their friend behind. Bitefly was next to fall. An arrow caught him in the eye and he dropped soundlessly, still snarling.
Headscratcher cut the head off of a Goblin and saw the skeleton. Only forty paces ahead now. It still hadn’t seem them. He ran towards it, but a group of howling Goblins charged from the right.
Orangepoo ran forwards. He said not a word, just grinned like he always did. Headscratcher saw him fall as he buried a spear in one of the Goblins’ legs and trip up the rest.
Eight now. The Goblin warriors ran on. Now the skeleton had seen them, and it pointed. Zombies and even a Ghoul came for them. Bitefly fell on the right, cursing and cutting at the Ghoul as it bore him to the ground and tore at him.
Seven. There was a wall of undead in front of them. Headscratcher and the Redfang warriors charged into them, screaming. The skeleton was right in front of them. And he had a sword.
Cut them down. Headscratcher took the leading zombie down with a leaping thrust. He fell with the body, struggling to pull his sword free. The other Redfang warriors took down their targets too. Where was the skeleton?
A flash of movement. Headscratcher saw Patchhelm turn and then the skeleton blurred into focus. The Goblin fell, headless. Headscratcher screamed and charged the skeleton.
So close. The skeleton fell back, fighting four of the Redfang warriors at once. But more zombies were coming, running at them. One seized Justrust from behind and snapped his neck.
Five. The five cut at the skeleton, making him dodge backwards. But he was all bones and he didn’t fear mere cuts. Headscracther took a cut that laid open his leg and he saw Rabbiteater choke as a zombie bit him all way down to the bone, making him drop the sword.
The skeleton laughed. He turned to run, mocking the Goblins who’d come to kill him. Headscratcher swung at him as the skeleton danced backwards, nimbly evading his sword thrust.
So close! But not enough. The skeleton’s purple flaming eyes glittered at Headscratcher. He stepped left, dodged a thrust, flicked his sword and parried a cut. He raised his own sword as Headscratcher stumbled, seized by a zombie on his left. The skeleton laughed—
And Shorthilt tackled him from behind. The skeleton stumbled, turned, tried to kick the Goblin off. But Shorthilt hung on, ignoring the foot that kicked his face and broke his nose. Bugear cut sideways, forcing the skeleton to block. Then the Goblin cut at the skeleton’s sword hand, deep, lodging his sword into the skeleton’s bones. Bugear strained to keep the skeleton’s arm in place as Headscratcher ran forwards. The skeleton turned towards him, eyes furious.
Yes. That was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t honorable. But it was the way the Goblins fought. And Headscratcher’s sword cleaved the skeleton’s spine in two. The skeleton fell in two pieces, and the Redfang warriors broke apart his body with their weapons.
Around them, the undead—paused. They seemed to stare at nothing, and then they moved again. Still attacking. Still trying to kill the living.
But no longer intelligently. No longer moving with purpose. The Redfang warriors, the five survivors, stumbled away. Headscratcher abandoned his sword to pull Rabbiteater away, giving the Goblin his shoulder.
They ran. Goblins were still everywhere. And the undead too. But they’d done all they could. All they could.
And it was enough. Because as the Goblins launched a final, desperate attack on the Humans on the barricades, the Redfang warriors looked to the gates of the city. And there they saw the adventurers.
—-
“We barely made it by the looks of it.”
That was what the half-Elf said to the Dwarf as they stood at the rear of the Goblin army. Without their commander, the Goblins had neglected their rear. Now they rushed to overwhelm the Human defenders, stretched too thin on their crumbling fortifications.
“That’s true. But we did get here, and we even brought help.”
So said the Dwarf. He was short for a Human, naturally, but those Humans who saw him tended to think he was tall for a Dwarf. He was not, at least, not for a modern Dwarf. He was five foot two, and his muscles rippled as he raised the hammer at his side.
Behind him, a group of men and women, all Humans, stood with their weapons draw. Silver-rank adventurers, over twenty of them. The half-Elf nodded.
“Let’s go. I’ll begin—hit them from the sides and cut towards Ylawes, would you?”
“Aye. Leave it to me.”
The Dwarf grinned. He turned his voice and roared at the Silver-rank adventurers.
“Follow me!”
He lead the host of [Warriors], [Mages], [Archers], [Rogues], and more at the side of the Goblin host, smashing through their unguarded ranks with ease. Even the Hob who turned to fight was crushed by a blow from the Dwarf’s hammer.
Alone, the half-Elf faced the Goblins who’d become aware of her presence. She raised the staff at her side, the blue crystal embedded in it shining. Arrows flew towards her, but the [Mage] was undeterred. She pointed at the Goblins.
“[Windward], [Flashfire], [Lesser Twister], [Water Arrow], [Silent Sickle], [Muddy Ground]—”
The litany of spells blasted from her staff, countless spells blasting Goblins off their feet, showering others with rains of arrows made from water, cutting others to bits while the arrows that had flown at the half-Elf bounced off the shield of air she’d conjured.
The battlefield changed again. The Silver-rank adventurers and Gold-rank Dwarf cut towards the stunned Humans. The Bronze-rank adventurer with a sword clutched at Ylawes as the man stumbled, nearly collapsing amid the walls of bodies he’d slain.
“Who are they sir? Reinforcements? From which city?”
“Yes. From all the nearby cities. And the Dwarf and half-Elf. They’re my team. The Silver Swords.”
Disbelieving, the Humans on the barricades stared as the Goblins below them began to rout. Their leaders lost, attacked by so many powerful adventurers, they began to flee. The undead kept fighting, but they were fragmented.
The exhausted man in silver armor raised his head as he heard the cheering begin. He didn’t smile. The man next to him turned to him, face shining.
“You saved us! You did it! We did it! We beat the Goblins by ourselves.”
“No. I don’t think it was just that.”
Ylawes didn’t look at the confused man. His eyes found the group of Goblins, five now, injured, fleeing the battle. The adventurer sighed, and then sat down.
He was so tired.
—-
He was so angry. Toren strode away from the battlefield, knowing all was lost. He couldn’t change the outcome now. The zombies were no match for adventurers of that caliber. And he’d been so close too! Just a few more moments and he would have broken the line
of Humans and been able to finish off the human in silver armor!
So close! But the Goblins had messed everything up!
Enraged, Toren slashed at the air with his sword, close to exploding with fury. How dare they. How dare they? They hadn’t even fought fair! They’d fought—well, like he fought!
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Toren stopped by the door of an abandoned building, trying to think rationally. He had to escape now. He still had life levels, his life. He could get some undead and go. Start somewhere else.
Doing what? The skeleton kicked at the wall and paused. Did he hear something? Cautiously, he poked his head inside the building. That was when he saw her.
A Human, lying on the ground. Toren hesitated. He…thought she was a Human. But didn’t he recognize her somewhere?
The monster girl. Yes. The flames in Toren’s eyes brightened in shock. But she was different. Was she wounded?
Yes. She was barely clinging to life. The skeleton walked over to her and saw the Human’s lips moving. She was whispering—something.
He didn’t care. The skeleton raised his sword and thrust it into the young woman’s side. He needed to kill something to feel better. He stabbed the Human with his sword, relishing the way she cried out weakly.
And then Toren heard the shout. He turned, but too late. The blow knocked him backwards. A Goblin had charged him from the side! The Goblin had no weapon and he struggle with Toren for his blade.
The skeleton tried to stab the Goblin, but he had been caught off-guard. His own sword impaled him through the rib cage. Toren staggered away, outraged, trying to drag the blade free. At last he got it out, splintering his bones in the process. He turned, sword in hand, and saw the Goblin.
He was holding the Human in his arms. She bled onto the ground, life oozing around his desperate claws. But she was…smiling. Smiling?
Toren paused.
He stared at the Goblin as he held the young woman in his arms, clutching at her bleeding chest, trying to hold the blood in. The skeleton saw a hand come up, and hold the Goblin’s face, and saw bloodless lips move. He saw the Goblin’s tears and felt something…odd in his chest.
