With a horribly damp noise, the lead caravan dropped almost a foot into the road, spraying mud into the air. Kubluk spluttered, and wiped the terribly smelling liquid from his face. Othtar laughed, and passed him a rag from his pack.
“Welcome to the Wrackpit swamps!” he bellowed. “You’ll be happy to hear we’ve over thirty miles of this quagmire.” Kubluk frowned, and looked ahead of them, where the fields surrounding the mountain home gave way to acres of rushes, muddy pools and swarming insects.
“Stay alert,” Othtar warned. “These swamps are home to all manner of beasts. A swamp is truly no place for a dwarf.” He barked an order to the nearest soldier, who scampered off to warn the others to prepare for an ambush.
Progress was agonisingly slow, as foot by muddy foot the caravan advanced slowly into the swamplands. Their advance was made even worse by repeated forced halts as yet another wagon lost its road way and dropped a wheel into a hidden rut. Every few seconds, Kubluk swatted angrily at the humming insects that had found something of intense interest in his beard.
“Try and ignore them,” Othtar advised. “You’ll never get them all.”
Legon was leading the convoy by about fifty paces, his eyes carefully scanning the road ahead for any threats. His combat experience made him ideal for scouting, and it was a task he enjoyed. Humming to himself, he strolled onwards.
Suddenly, he dropped to a crouch. He raised an arm, and the convoy behind him slowly clattered to a halt. At least, most of it did. From far back down the line, the sound of crunching wood and angry shouts signalled one or two carts were a little too slow to respond.
Othtar joined him after a few moments at a crouching run, keeping low in fear of elven bows.
“What is it?” he asked, scanning the road ahead.
Legon nodded to the swamp either side of the road. “I saw movement in the waters. Could just be nothing, but this is swamp beast territory.”
Othtar nodded. “Then we best go check it out,” he stated, rose to his feet, and called over Teach.
“Any trouble, you know what to do,” he commented, as they strolled almost casually in the direction of the threat.
“Kill it?” Legon chuckled.
“Aye.” Othtar turned and walked back towards the wagons, shouting for the officers of the other divisions to ready their men for an ambush.
Teach dropped to his knees, and lowered his ear to the ground. Legon stood motionless, scanning the ditches to either side of them, acting as a pair of eyes for the sightless dwarf.
“Blasted swamp,” Teach muttered. “I can hear something, but the ground’s too damp to get a clear direction. There’s more than one of them as well. I’m thinking twenty, maybe thirty of them.”
Legon nodded slowly, his confidence in Teach’s abilities without question. He lifted an arm, and another ten soldiers of the Courageous Bolt joined them within moments.
He slid his axe deftly from his back, and without giving an order, the other dwarves did the same. Teach tucked his cane into his pack, and replaced it with his rusted blade. “So, do we parley?” he asked.
Legon stepped forward from the group, and cleared his throat. “Listen here,” he shouted. There’s two ways this can go down. Either you show yourselves, and join us for some rum, or we go in there and drag you out by the teeth. Your ambush has already failed, so either you come out and fight us, or bugger off.”
He swung his axe down in a sweeping circle, and buried its head in the muddy ground in front of him. He stood back, almost casually, and folded his arms.
Almost a minute passed. The entire caravan stood in a deathly silence, as they waited for a response. Suddenly, with a damp slither, a creature reared itself from the swamp. It stood as tall as a dwarf, its wet leathery skin glistening in the sunlight, holding a crude spear in what passed for its arms. It surveyed Legon with a pair of cold, dark eyes.
Legon stared back.
A saliva-filled orifice in its face opened, and the beast spoke. “These are our lands,” it slithered, its voice as damp and sickening as its very flesh. “Your lives will be forfit.”
The marshes to either side of the caravan bubbled, and dozens more slugmen rose from the waters, they were soon surrounded by several dozen of the sinister looking beasts.
Back on the lead wagon, Othtar spat down into the mud, and reached for the axe that was neatly stored behind him. “Slugmen,” he muttered. “Disgusting beasts.”
Kubluk gulped. “Are they a threat?”
Othtar looked at him with faint amusement, then returned his axe to the pile. He leant back, folded his cloak behind his head to act as a pillow, and closed his eyes. Within moments, he began to snore.
Ahead of the convoy, Legon’s stare began to crack. His stern mouth creased on either side, and a bellowing laugh erupted from his deep chest. “Slugmen!” he cried, waving his fist in the air. “We ask for a battle, and you give us slugmen?!”
The leader of the slugmen managed to look almost embarrassed. It waved its spear in the air, somewhat irritated by the lack of attention it was getting. “Slugmen!” it rasped. “Kill them all!”
The beasts poured over the convoy like a swarm of ants over spilled honey, their cries of anger and rage filling the air. Legon swept up his axe from the dirt, and plowed into their midst.
The slaughter was over within moments. Slime was scattered far and wide as the dwarves of the Courageous Bolt decimated the enemy ranks, axes chopping repeatedly as if their enemy was little more than diseased wood. Even Kubluk watched in silent fascination, as their numbers were scattered across the roadway.
Teach stood alone, his sightless combat an awesome sight to behold. Unable to see his enemy, he fought purely by instinct, his blade whirling almost invisibly in the air, covering every possible approach. He laughed manically, and called across to Legon. “ It’s like cutting butter!” he cried. “Their meat doesn’t even slow me down!”
The combat soon ended, and the men of the Bolt returned to the caravan. Several more of their number emerged from the swamp to either side of the wagons, covered from head to toe in mud, where they had dived in pursuit of the now fleeing enemy.
Legon raised his axe, and shouted into the swamps. “We are dwarves, and this is our swamp now!”
Teach returned his sword to his back, and withdrew his guiding cane. He turned, and began to totter back towards the convoy. Suddenly he stopped. “Legon,” he shouted. “I need to borrow your pick”
Legon turned in puzzlement. “What for old man?”
“I think I just trod in a slugman.”
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Topic: The Captain's Log- Spiritwood (Read 61261 times)