By the way, I hope you're happy. Because of you I went and read "Dropped a Bridge on Him" on TVTropes.
Thikut was positively glowing as she strolled along the small garden path to her beehives. She carried a basket hooked over one arm, her other hand resting on the large bulge that stretched her dress. The time was fast approaching for her baby to be born and she had never felt so happy in her life. Thikut hummed to her self as she plodded around her hive, cheerfully waving bees away from her silky locks. She deftly tapped the hive, drawing out the glistening chunks of honeycomb and placing them delicately in her basket. The sweet odour of fresh honey perfumed the air around her and the bees thrummed as they frantically worked to replace the honeycomb that had mysteriously vanished from their hive.
The beekeeper kept humming happily as she headed back for the great fortress doors. The path was long and meandering, but she didn't mind the walk. Being outside was nice occasionally, and besides-- Oh. Thikut rested a hand on her stomach. "Och, not now," she murmured. "Ye're joking, right?" She felt another spasm ripple through her distended stomach and panicked slightly. "Och, no, not yet!"
***
She panted slightly as she cradled the small, red, wet... thing. The baby was surprisingly small and even more surprisingly loud. She tried to hush the boy, rocking little Fikod gently to try and soothe him. And finally it hit her.
I am a mother! she thought excitedly, a flutter of joy skipping through her. Thikud climbed to her feet and cradled Fikod close to her chest, the basket of honeycomb forgotten. She had to get back to her husband,
now. She wanted him to meet the little boy.
The fastest route back to the doors of the fortress passed through the garbage dump. Thikud worried momentarily about her baby getting sick from the waste, but cast the thought from her mind. A good shot of wine would purge any sickness from the little boy, she knew. She made up her mind and began jogging towards the fortress, hiking her skirt up to avoid the shrubs that grew in plentiful quantities around the garbage pile.
The garbage area appeared to be nearly deserted, with only one dwarf purposefully walking through the yard. He didn't see her, which was good. She didn't really want to stop and show off the baby just yet, she had to show her husband first. She stepped onto the garbage pile proper, deftly avoiding discarded pieces of cat bone, trying not to breathe in the sme-
The militia commander slashes the goblin hammerman in the left upper arm with his bismuth bronze short sword, and the severed part sails off in an arc!
The goblin lasher slashes the militia commander in the upper body from behind with his iron whip, tearing the muscle and bruising the left lung!
The militia commander falls over.
The goblin hammerman strikes the militia commander in the left lower arm with his iron warhammer, shattering the bone!
The militia commander stands up.
The militia commander bites the goblin hammerman in the throat, bruising the muscle!
The militia commander latches on firmly!
The militia commander shakes the goblin hammerman around by the throat, tearing apart the muscle!
An artery in the throat has been opened!
The goblin lasher slashes at the militia commander but the shot is blocked!
The goblin hammerman has bled to death.
The militia commander slashes the goblin lasher in the head with his bismuth bronze short sword and the severed part sails off in an arc!
The goblin lasher has been struck down.
Now, see, this is
badass. This one will be GLORIOUS.
They came for him in the night.
Stealing in on noiseless boots, the goblins crept through the sleeping fortress like ghosts. There was a man in this fortress, a Dwarf said to be the bane of all Goblin-kind, and they had been sent to kill him. They were assassins of the highest order and many hundreds of Dwarves, Elves and Humans had fallen to the pair's deadly iron weaponry.
They slunk from shadow to shadow, effortlessly evading the sleepy patrolling of a lone guardsman. A silent scuffle, a wet thud, and the Dwarf was dead before he even knew what was happening. The lasher dragged the body into the deepest shadows of a stockpile, leaving the corpse to rot among barrels of pungent mushrooms. From there, the two assassins encountered nobody as they prowled ever closer to the commander's bedroom.
***
A gentle 'click' woke Ber from his slumber. His silvery eyes flickered around the room before coming to rest on two odd shadows that he had never seen before. There was no noise, no betrayal of movement when all of a sudden a hammer appeared overhead and streaked down for his head.
He didn't think, he just dove out of bed and into a headlong roll, coming to a kneeling standstill next to his weapon rack. Ber's hand found his trusty sword hilt and he gripped it tightly, his left hand taking hold of the scabbard. As he began to rise he sensed movement behind him; again without thinking, he launched himself upwards and drew his shortsword in one smooth motion. Blood sprayed through the air and his bronze sword formed a gleaming arc in the candlelight as he swung cleanly through a goblin's left arm.
The appendage fell uselessly to the ground as the goblin's face registered a look of surprise, but not quite as much surprise as Ber felt. "Who are ye?" he barked in his authoritative tone, a voice used to terrifying new recruits during training. The goblin stepped back involuntarily and Ber pressed his advantage. "Identify yeself!" He raised his sword and levelled its point at the goblin's throat. "If ye do not tell me who ye be, I will end ye miserable life right here and now, I promise ye that."
Fire ignited all up his left side and Ber fell to his knees, gasping for breath. A glance behind revealed a second goblin, wielding a whip. The second goblin glared icily at the kneeling commander. "We're here for your life, Ocherstroke. That's all you need to know. We never talk to dead men." The Goblin's guttural voice hurt Ber's ears, but at last he had an answer. Assassins, and skilled ones at that to have penetrated this deeply into a fortress. But good assassins never talked, unless...
Ber turned his attention back to the Goblin in front of him just in time to catch sight of the mighty iron warhammer soar towards his skull. Ber gritted his teeth and caught the hammer square on the sheathe in his left hand, feeling the heavy impact of the hammer drive into his forearm. Something in his arm snapped and Ber growled in pain. He leapt from his knees, lunging forwards with his sword for the Goblin's throat. The sword passed harmlessly over the Goblin's shoulder but Ber carried on forwards, colliding with the Goblin and latching onto the hapless creature's throat with his teeth. He growled savagely and wrenched the hammergoblin sideways, feeling the tender flesh around the carotid artery give way beneath his teeth.
A shake of his head cast the corpse aside. He tasted bitter blood in his mouth and spat as he turned to face the lasher. The remaining Goblin's face was pale in the wake of the unruly savagery that Ber had just displayed, but the lasher didn't back down. Ber was glad. His blood was up and a fleeing opponent didn't present an honourable kill.
Ber slid into a combat stance, his left arm held out in front of him with the scabbard still clenched in his outstretched hand. His arm hurt like hell, but there would be time enough for that later. His right arm hovered above his head, the sword held parallel to the ground. "Come on, then," he taunted. "If ye think ye're good enough."
The whip whistled as it cut through the air and Ber was already moving. He caught the whip on his scabbard and felt the force dissipate harmlessly as it wrapped around the leather. The iron whip slid limply to the floor and the Goblin pulled his arm back to strike again, but Ber Ocherstroke was too quick; he wasn't the commander for nothing. He felt the moment of perfect serenity hanging in the air, like autumn leaves on a tree. The opening, the settling, the perfect moment.
His shortsword arced once more, tracing a line of brilliant light as it caught the candleflame for the second time that night. Ber slid effortlessly past the Goblin as though it were a statue and he came to a rest beyond the Goblin, not bothering to look over his shoulder at his opponent. The fight was already over.
He slid his sword slowly into the waiting scabbard and it seated with a faint 'clink'. As though the sound were a signal, the goblin's head toppled to the floor.
So, yeah, Ber is basically a samurai.
Author
Topic: Come, give me your combat reports so I may narrate them! (Read 7659 times)