Varnoth- the Black Blade 2

by Lavelle Jackson

  The colossal orc stormed into the woods, and Henegarron could have sworn he felt the ground shake. The dwarf had no qualms with John taking the point.

  “Speed up, you little runt bastard!” yelled John as he blasted between the trees knocking leaves down as he passed.

  “Me legs is damned short you green son of a bitch. You are damned loud enough. I am sure they already know we are coming with you bashing about all over the place.”

  Suddenly a pine cone smacked Henegarron in the face, and he let out a yell of pain and surprise. He stumbled to the forest floor, and the air left his lungs. He coughed violently as John hunched over with his large hands on his knees and laughed.

  “Ah, you think it is funny, do you? How bout I tell Varnoth to kick your big, green ass out of Darthill? You go play your pitiful tunes to the bunny rabbits in the forest?”

  “Ah, put a sock in it. I didn’t mean to kick that pinecone in your face. Now you know not to run right behind me. I can't control what these big feet do when I am running like a mighty beast!” replied John as he helped Henegarron to his feet. John began to wipe the dirt off the dwarf with his large hands.

  “Damn, man, now you are getting frisky with me. Get your slimy hands off me! Let’s go!”

  The duo was able to follow the tracks without issue for miles. As they came closer to Slorm, they could hear a lot of commotion in the distance. A wooden fence made from logs surrounded the town. They were ten feet tall and spiked at the top. They could see a gate with two guards with spears.

  “Those ain’t no regular goblins, lad!” whispered Henegarron.

  “No shit, those are hobgoblins. They are double the size of your run of the mill runt goblins. Alright, look over there, let's climb up there so we can get a view of the town,” John said as he pointed to a cliff overlooking the town.

  “Aye, let’s go, don’t let anyone see us,” replied the dwarf.

  ******

  Henry stood in the middle of town on a wooden platform that was used for either executions or sacrifices, maybe both. Blood stained the wood, and the smell of decay was permanently embedded in the lumber. Two hobgoblins tied the gnome to a post in the center of the platform. After they were done, the hobgoblins moved to each side of the platform and stood facing the crowd. More and more goblins surrounded the platform. The crowd grew from dozens to hundreds. There were goblins and hobgoblins scattered throughout the rabid mob. They threw rocks and rotten fruit at the gnome, and they screamed all kinds of obscenities in their native goblin tongue. After a few minutes, the crowd became quiet and parted. Wrimrung sauntered toward the platform not breaking his deadly gaze at the gnome prisoner.

  Henry’s heart began to beat faster and faster with each step the war chief took. The gnome’s bladder wanted to release its contents, but Henry was determined to die with some dignity left intact. Wrimrung walked up to the gnome and put his hand under his chin and lifted his face so he would look the hobgoblin dead in the eyes. The gnome trembled in fear, but he stared him down. Suddenly, the gnome spat in the face of the war chief, and the crowd released a deafening gasp. Wrimrung placed his fingers on his face to wipe off the spittle. However, he moved the spittle cover fingers to his tongue and watched the gnome squirm in disgust.

  Wrimrung turned to the crowd and yelled, “Ah, this little one has some backbone. I like that.”

  The war chief turned and punched the gnome in the gut. Henry felt as if all of his guts were going to erupt from his mouth. Henry coughed and puked onto the wooden floor. The gnome struggled to get air back into his lungs. Henry’s attempt to keep from pissing himself failed. Urine flowed down his legs and puddled onto the wood beneath him.

  “Lookie there, the little squirt pissed himself. I thought he was above that, but he is just a coward like every other creature that is tied to this post. No one ever dies with dignity. Death doesn’t care about your feelings.”

  The crowd cheered with their hands raised high, and some jumped up and down in excitement at the macabre festivities.

  “We are here to offer this gnome to our god, Yorg! These gnomes and their accomplices are responsible for the deaths of dozens of our brothers in war. We offer this runt to Yorg that he may give us the power to conquer our new enemies from the south. We need his blessing upon us so we can crush them and slaughter them like the vermin that they are!”

  “YORG! YORG! YORG!” chanted the mob as they looked to the skies above.

  “Yorg has three requirements to answer our prayer for war! Blood, Pain, and Ashes,” Wrimrung bellowed as he held both of his arms up to the sky. Henry looked all around in horror. He was in disbelief that this is how his life was going to end – a sacrifice to a goblin god.

  Wrimrung unsheathed his sword and ripped all the gnomes clothes off. Toggus, the witch doctor, walked up to the naked, trembling gnome and pulled out a dagger and began carving a symbol into Henry’s chest. The gnome screamed in agony until no more air resided in his lungs. Toggus chanted some sort of prayer as he cut. Henry felt the warmth of his blood streaming down his torso to his legs. The crowd cheered once they saw the gruesome symbol on his chest even though none of them knew what it meant. Toggus moved to the side, and Wrimrung approached. With a quick slice of the sword blade, the entrails of the gnome spilled from his gut and plopped to the floor. It looked like a pile of rotting snakes lying on the wooden platform. Horror beyond belief filled the eyes of Henry, and his screams of pain pierced the ears of the entire town of Slorm. Steam rose from the hot intestines that laid on the floor. Wrimrung, plunged his monstrous, green hand into the pile and grabbed the entrails and lifted them high. The crowd cheered and were almost in a frenzy. Wrimrung pressed the gore into the face of the gnome. Henry turned his head and tried to avoid it, but he could not.

  Life was fading in the eyes of the brave gnome, but the hobgoblin had one more cut to deliver. The blade of the war chief sliced the gnome's throat and what blood was left in the body gushed from the great vessels in his neck. Wrimrung placed a cup under the wound and captured a goblet full of warm blood and drank. As the war chief walked to the front of the platform, Toggus delivered a pyromancy spell, and what was left of the gnome ignited in orange flame. The mob cheered and danced at the cruel display. A few seconds afterward, the sky over Slorm grew dark, and a blast of red energy rained on the crowd. The dark god, Yorg, had answered their prayer.

  ******

  Henegarron and John stood in disbelief at what they had just witnessed. They were a reasonable distance away, but Henry’s screams filled their ears as if they stood on the platform with him. Tears streamed down the face of Henegarron as Henry went up in flames. John turned and emptied his stomach on the ground. Henegarron dropped his ax and fell to his knees.

  “Gods, how does evil like this exist? I don’t know if I will ever sleep again,” said Henegarron as he stared at the flaming gnome in the distance. John put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Let’s go. We need to get ready. They are going to come to Darthill. These pieces of shit will pay.”

  As they turned to retreat, their attention turned toward the darkness over Slorm and the red aura that appeared. The roar from the crowd became deafening. They looked as if they had been injected with some sort of new evil that made them more powerful.

  "What in the name of the gods was that John?"

  "I don't know, friend, but we need to get the hell out of here. We need to tell Varnoth what we have seen, and we need to do it now."

  CHAPTER 32

  John and Henegarron frantically raced down the slope from the cliff they once stood upon. When they reached the bottom, they stopped in their tracks. The two hobgoblin guards stood with their spears in attack position. Eight goblins surrounded them with their various weapons raised. They were equipped with spears, short swords, maces, and bows.

  “Stop!” yelled one of the hobgoblin guards.

  Henegarron was shocked at how much more clearly the hobgoblins spoke. All of the go
blins he had ever met were almost incomprehensible. The duo from Darthill raised their weapons as well and prepared for battle. They were outnumbered and possibly outmatched with the huge hobgoblins that stood in front of them. They were as tall as Ray, and they towered over the dwarf, Henegarron. Their arms were very muscular, not quite as large as the arms of Ray, but they were impressive. They stood in very crude, leather armor, so that was a positive for Ray and Henegarron.

  “We will pass. You can count on that dipshits!” yelled Henegarron with gnashed teeth and a pounding heartbeat.

  “You are outnumbered and will surely die. You are coming with us,” said the hobgoblin.

  “Just to be killed and mutilated like the gnome? You must be crazy, you slimy bastard!” replied John as he gripped his hammertar tightly.

  “Orc, you from Darthill, Klotts speak of Orc on wagon!” spat one of the smaller goblins.

  “Darthill, we don’t know what in the sam hill you are jabbering about! We are just passing through on our way to Drangar,” replied Henegarron.

  “Rest assured, goblins are stupid, but hobgoblins are not. Drop your weapons. We will not ask again,” said the hobgoblin.

  “Eh, why don’t you just drop your pants, and we will chop off your little weenies,” said Henegarron.

  John looked at Henegarron, confused by his request, but he turned back toward the hobgoblins and flipped his hammertar to the other hand.

  Suddenly, the mouthy hobgoblin’s head exploded, and blood erupted from the stump. Another arrow plunged into the other hobgoblin’s neck. He frantically grabbed the shaft of the arrow, but it was of no use. He gurgled and fell flat on his back, dead. Henegarron and John turned quickly, and they saw a dark figure on a tree branch with a black bow.

  “I think you boys better turn around,” said Flynn as he pointed at the approaching eight goblin mob.

  They turned and witnessed goblins a few feet away waddling with their weapons toward them.

  John went into immediate action as he raised his hammertar over his head and slammed it on the skull of the closest goblin. His head cracked as he slammed face first into the dirt. Henegarron made a 360-degree spin attack with his battle ax striking two approaching goblins. One of them lost a leg, and the other was gored in the rib cage. From Henegarron’s left flank, a goblin plunged a wooden spear into his shoulder blade. He roared in pain and swung his right arm, holding the ax and severed the attacking goblin’s left arm. Blood spewed out of the wound and sprayed Henegarron’s beard. The dwarf yanked out the spear with a loud ripping sound and threw it to the ground. He fought through the pain and used both arms to raise the ax over his head and slashed at the neck of the goblin decapitating him. Another goblin began to slash for a critical hit but was met with an arrow from Flynn’s obsidian bow. The arrow pierced the goblin right between the eyes, and the force blasted the goblin’s eyeballs out of their sockets. They dangled on his bloody cheeks as he fell to the ground.

  In Henegarron’s peripheral vision, he saw the orc leap in the air and slam his hammertar on the ground in the center of three goblins, and the shockwave sent them flying. Henegarron promptly plunged his ax into the chest of the goblin that fell closest to him. The massive orc slammed his hammertar on the closest goblin, and his head exploded on the forest floor with a wet crack. The final goblin dropped his mace and ran as fast as he could toward the gate, but it was futile. Flynn launched an arrow that impaled the goblin in the back of his head as he ran for his life. He fell to the ground with a resounding plop. They were all dead.

  “Are you alright?” John asked Henegarron as he looked at the bleeding wound on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, the little bastard got me pretty good, but it is nothing a little healing salve won’t mend.”

  They turned back to the tree to look at their mysterious ally. However, he was now standing a few feet behind them. They were startled and raised their weapons.

  “Easy fellows, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead. You wouldn’t have seen it coming. You need to learn to be more mindful of your surroundings. My name is Flynn, and I am a Black Blade.”

  “A Black Blade? We know one of those,” said John as he lowered his weapon.

  “I know you do. I heard you say his name.”

  “You know, Varnoth?” asked Henegarron.

  “Of course, I do. I made him what he is today.”

  “Why are you here, and why did you help us?” asked John.

  “Well, I was passing through. I wondered if Wrimrung had any more quests for me. I have done some work for him in the past. When I entered the town, he was a bit preoccupied. A hobgoblin named Klotts dragged two gnomes into Wrimrung’s hut. I heard a lot of screaming and commotion from the inside. I peeked in a crack on the backside, and he had a little gnome named Barth chained up, and the witch doctor, Toggus, sliced him up and collected some of his blood in a cup for Wrimrung to partake. Then the same hobgoblins drug the other fellow out, Henry, I think it was. I decided this wasn’t the time to be hanging around, and I took off. I saw you two standing up there watching, and I snuck up the tree here and got a good look at the show. Damn, they messed up that little gnome. It was sickening to see. I did some eavesdropping and heard you talk about Varnoth and Darthill. I had just planned to follow you, but you needed my help against these green bastards. So here I am,” explained the dark elf.

  “Well, we thank you. We need to get out of here before they come looking for these goblins and wonder why the guards have left their post. We can’t take on a whole town,” said Ray apprehensively.

  “Yeah, I am not sure what Varnoth has gotten himself into, but he has really screwed the pooch. This isn’t a gang of bandits. This is an army of goblins and hobgoblins who have just received some sort of blessing from a god. That is why the sky turned dark, and that red aura covered the town. Wrimrung is one bad, bad creature. He makes Atlas look like a gentle, little fairy.”

  “If he is so damned evil, why the hell have you been questing for the monster? How are you any different from him?” asked Henegarron with gritted teeth and angry eyes.

  “Dwarf, if you want to grow in your powers in Albattara, you accept quests wherever they are available. I haven’t done anything bad for him, just some simple information gathering that requires a bit of stealth that goblins and hobgoblins don’t have. Don’t compare me to Wrimrung. I will end you if you say that again,” said Flynn as he unsheathed a dagger from his belt.

  “Wait, wait, wait, let’s not fight amongst ourselves. We need to move our asses right now and get back to Darthill and prep for an attack,” said John as he pointed south.

  “No, we need to get Barth out of the clutches of this mad beast! We can’t leave him here!” yelled Henegarron as he looked toward the town.

  “You cannot save him. That isn’t a little goblin camp. That is a town, with angry goblins and hobgoblins that have just received a battle blessing from their god. You will die. Varnoth needs to know what has happened and be prepared for an onslaught from these sons of bitches,” replied Flynn.

  “He’s right, my friend, there is nothing we can do. We can’t risk not delivering this news to Varnoth and preparing Darthill for an attack. Not just one person will die; many will die. It is hard, I know, but we must go, and we have to go now. We are wasting time,” said John with his hand placed on Henegarron’s uninjured shoulder.

  Henegarron took some deep breaths as he stared at the ground and then back at the town. He nodded and said, “Let’s go. Are you coming with us, elf?”

  “The name is Flynn, and yes, I will go. You will need all of the help you can get.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The door to Varnoth’s chambers burst open and loud footsteps resounded on the cool, stone floor. The shadow panther grabbed a dagger from the nightstand and rolled off the bed into a defensive stance.

  “I am sorry to charge in like this, but Henegarron and John have returned. They brought a dark elf with them. You said you wanted to know right away,” said
William with a tinge of embarrassment.

  “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for letting me know. I will be down in a couple of minutes.”

  William nodded as he sped out of the room and downstairs to the foyer. Varnoth wiped the sleep from his eyes and gulped a glass of water. He equipped his armor and weapons then sprinted downstairs to meet his friends and get an update on what they had found.

  As the cold bite of the morning air touched his nose, he saw Henegarron, John the Son of Ray, and none other than Flynn, the Black Blade.

  What in the name of the gods is Flynn doing here?

  “Varnoth, we will head up to the council chambers. Cody, Hobnick, and Dormatos are headed up that way now,” said William.

  Varnoth nodded. He knew that was a good idea. They didn’t need to get into any troubling details with everyone else looking on and listening.

  After ten minutes had passed, the Darthill council assembled. Two participants were not members of the council. Thus, they didn’t have a seat at the table. John and Flynn stood by as everyone sat down. Dormatos and Hobnick promptly hopped up from their position and offered their seats to John and Flynn. They denied the gnomes' request. The council members could tell that something was very wrong and that they had not returned with the missing gnomes. You could feel the pounding hearts in the chests of everyone in the room, except for Flynn. He was calm as ever. He almost appeared bored.

  Over the next half hour, John and Henegarron filled the council in on the events that had transpired on their quest to bring back the gnomes. Flynn stood by silent with his arms crossed. The council members’ eyes were wide, and mouths open in disbelief. Varnoth sat in his chair with his teeth grinding in anger. His claws dug into the stone table, which surprised even him.

  “Flynn, I thank you for your help. Our friends would probably be dead or prisoners if you hadn’t stepped in,” Varnoth said while he nodded at the dark elf, “Is there anything else you can tell us about this Wrimrung character?”