In legion they paused by the boundary of Reignedcreature, the Elven retreat. At the threshold Cog paused, setting the first foot on the ice - hoping dearly the Elves would not look upon the copper-scourged caravan with menace & well-justified suspicion. Absolute silence filled the forest as Cog bid everyone move in quiet; once they stopped in the forest centre, there was naught in the air but the sound of snowflakes falling in a plain swept by a faint notherly breeze, pattering like a gentle rain by the sea. There was no fighting, there was no talking, but there was an unnerving smell in the air. Following the scent on the breeze Cog was made aware that there was something waiting outside the forest.
It smelled of the fresh slaughter of a butcher's workshop left to sit under a nauseating sun for a whole summer, like a Fortress refuse pile after an invasion of skinless corpses & murky bloodflies, like a strawberry wine mixed with gutter cruor and the curd of purring maggot cheese or a worn-out sock left to stew in the accumulated bodily fluids of a thousand sieges.
It was the scent of death.
They grew quieter still when the gentle wind gave way to a biting breeze, a howling gale which seemed far too piercing to belong to nature alone. Weapons drawn, the howling grew closer as it stalked them - and they set their ambush. It wouldn't hurt to do the Elves a favour.
With a thunderous charge it threw itself into the melee, a gaunt and berserk night creature whose ribs pierced through its skin, whose shriek was a discordant piercing sound of steel scraping against steel. Cog blocked its strikes and retaliated fiercely with his hammer by breaking its left leg with a punishing blow just as Yare slashed its left arm, barely missing its neck. The goblins were confident in amidst the din of their perfect ambush, the night creature realising too late it was completely surrounded.
In the pell-mell rush of violence the creature struggled to slay its way out to no avail; the more experienced members of the party were capable of looking after the enthusiastic, but still-learning members of the goblin family. Before long the howling had died down and they were left only with the stench of the unnatural carcass.
'Is everyone ok?' Cog asked. He received 3 dozen affirmations. 'Ok good, because we're going to do that again.'
All around the forest retreat these night creatures roamed, searching for a lone victim. Tracking them down was a trivial task when they made so much noise & smell.
The next such night creature was skilled at close quarters combat, parrying Cog's strike before delivering a powerful riposte - though it was blocked by Cog's steel helm, his neck felt the power of the strike painfully, like getting hit by a troll in a barfight. The goblins replied with overwhelming force, though Cog did have to later ask why Osta was slapping the night creature with wolf meat.
With growing confidence and momentum the marauding warband of night-time neighbourhood watchmen cleared the forest of the uninvited interlopers, tracking them down wherever they went. Their tactics were elegant in their simplicity; the unarmed goblins would grab the night creatures and try to keep them still whilst the armed warriors would end them rightly.
It wasn't a particularly heroic or honourable method to fight creatures of the night, yet a pike from the back of the head wounds no differently from one to the front, just as surely as a shadow creature's claws do not discriminate between the dishonourable or the honourable.
Upon closer inspection of the corpse, it turned out one of the shadow women was actually a shadow man - they had killed the consort of the progenitor. Evidently there was a large family of these creatures and the consort's last words were something along the lines of his wife getting her sword to eviscerate them all, so perhaps there would be more work to do. Or perhaps not.
The sun was rising in the east and the night creatures were returning to their lairs; Cog was exhausted from the night's endeavours and it was time to enjoy a good day's sleep. In the evening he would try and find some elves & see if they knew where the night creatures lived. Failing that, Cog could at least share some stories before moving on to the next city.
Have faith, brother! The best threads do not die. They rest.
Very much so - been busy with real life things, but finally have time once more (I quit my job, happy days now)
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Topic: Cog the Blind Drunk (Read 49367 times)