“I was very ignorant.” Cerol began. “How can I expect any of you to earn the mantle of warrior when I do not permit you to do so? You have my apologies.” He paused for a fitful second.
“ I imagine,” Cerol began again in his hollow baritone. “That for many of you this is your first sight of a goblin. The goblin is dangerous, it is as strong and as capable as a dwarf. Do not underestimate the goblin. There is no adequate simulation for the taking of a life and today you shall learn that skill as intimately as possible. This goblin attempted with it's kin to destroy your home. To take your belongings. To kill your friends. Had you sought it you would have found no mercy at the hands of a goblin siege, offer it the same courtesy now. Hairless Baboons, attack.”
There was silence. It was entirely true that the goblin had once sought to kill them but now it stood before them naked and terrified. It's red eyes darted between them from behind it's matted black locks as it fled as far as the thick rope would allow it.
“Hairless Baboons,” Cerol called more sternly this time. “Attack.”
There was a twang and a clanging as a bolt flew past the goblin, ricocheted off a large stone, and tumbled end over end before burying itself in the soft ground. Degel shot first and though he missed gave the others permission to fire. More bolts flew. None struck. The goblin began frantically screaming and cursing in it's tongue, tugging savagely at the leash ineffectually trying to loose it from it's bonds. Another volley, more misses. The Baboons weren't aiming.
“Kill!” Dumplin cringed like a dog in a lightning storm. Cerols wicked command burst from his throat like an icicle piercing infant flesh, cold, sharp, and savage.
“If she falls to my brothers I promise you she will suffer!”Cerol demanded blood and he would have it.
'This goblin would have killed Obok.' Dumplin reminded herself. She called on the ancient and powerful part of her mind that guided her in combat. Her instincts did not respond. There was no primordial command like before. No matter how she justified it she was not in combat, she wasn't facing an adversary she was committing cold blooded murder. 'Destroy the enemy' she told herself. The goblin wanted to harm, wanted to kill Obok. 'Destroy the enemy' she told herself again. But the goblin wasn't her enemy. Her blood froze as a dark thought crossed her mind. There was only one being responsible for them all being here.
Nobody could dodge a crossbow bolt at such close range, not even Cerol. She could thread the needle and put an iron bolt right through the eyes of his helmet. He was still a dwarf, no matter how dangerous he was he was still just a dwarf. A crossbow bolt to the head would kill him just like anyone else. But he was fast, he was brutal, he was experienced. If she twitched her weapon even an inch towards him there was a very real possibility his glimmering blade would flash in a bright arc and she would keel over in two distinct pieces. Even if she could kill him it would end her. Even if a the nobles believed it was an accident they would destroy her. Her choices were murder or murder and suicide.
“It's not your choice”
“It's an act of mercy”
“It's her own fault”
None of the excuses meant anything. She aimed with her shaking hands, fought back tears, and fired. Without relying on any kind of instinct she was painfully aware of the experience. She felt her hand depress the lever. She felt the buck as the bolt flew with ungodly speed. She heard the visceral thud and the cries of pain and horror as the missile found it's mark.
There was a wild howl as the bolt buried itself in the Goblin's guts. She struggled for a moment tentatively and fearfully attempting to pull out the bolt but the pain was too much so she redoubled her efforts to free herself of the rope. There was a chorus of twangs and wet smacks followed by more screams of agony as the baboons found flesh. Dumplin had given them permission to kill. Dark blood poured from the numerous wounds as the goblin collapsed bristling with bolts. Cerol stepped forward.
He walked to the center of the clearing and stood beside the dying goblin as her mouth impotently opened and closed like a dying fish. He cocked his head and stared for a moment. Wordlessly he raised his brilliant cyan boot and stepped on the goblin's head with a wet crunch. Pulped brain matter and skull fragments clung to his foot as he walked back towards them.
“You are dismissed.” He said.
Dumplin walked back to her quarters. She felt sick. She felt unclean. She didn't feel much like a warrior.
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Topic: The Increasingly Tragic Tale of Dumplin (Read 78150 times)