Chapter Text
Minthara had never in her entire life thought she would lead a camp full of goblins.
Not a drow camp with a few goblins, no, a goblin camp with a few drow.
Still the Absolute ordered and she followed.
If she commanded the druids dead, so be it.
They would serve nicely as food for her spiders.
The order was rather simple. The execution not so much.
For a group of heretics and elves the druids had resisted for quite long, a whole month since she arrived and some more before that.
Now that she had assessed the situation and stationed the few drow warriors she was given, they would not last another month though.
After this strategy meeting, they were done.
Now she only needed the other two leaders to agree to common sense, which was a frustratingly hard task.
Truly the Absolute was unknowable and her ways mysterious.
Why did a bunch of dingy goblins need three leaders? Why did the other two have to be goblins as well? Why had it to be goblins at all?
Many questions that had no answer and needed none. She was just a vessel of the true goddess will, a true soul.
But so were the others.
She looked over to them.
They were certainly goblins.
Priestess Gut was small, as was the rule for her kind, barely able to look over Minthara's table. Yet she was old, older than most goblins would ever become, probably still a pitiful age compared to even the lowest of drow, but impressive for what she was.
That and the different scars on her body and face proved she was either smart or tough for a goblin, probably both.
Minthara could respect that.
She was currently debating the other one, talking in their shared, strange language. A rather unusual string of harsh vowels and consonants.
Unfamiliar and rather unpleasant.
They did switch language often, using goblin to spin plots.
Probably.
She wouldn't know. She didn't speak it.
While they were one under the Absolute, there was still hierarchy. Were there was hierarchy there was the ability to rise above your peers. That always caused plots, even among the lowest of the low.
They were probably on edge because of her, aware of their betters.
The priestess growled something, agitated, pulling back her ears.
“Youths”, she mumbled, now in common, looking at Minthara expectantly, waiting for her to to agree.
It seemed like their conspiring was futile, failing at the hurdle of their respective personalities.
An obvious pitfall, considering what those were.
“We can't just rush 'em. We don't even know where they at.”, she continued, gesturing at Dror Ragzlin, who was glaring daggers at her.
Ragzlin was a tall man, a very tall man. He didn't look like the other goblins, mostly because he wasn't a goblin.
He was a hobgoblin. A small but significant difference.
Hobgoblins were better than goblins in almost all aspects.
They were quite expensive as slaves in Menzoberranzan, mostly because of their politeness and absurd loyalty paired with more then enough discipline and skill, especially in all things war.
Ragzlin had seemingly not gotten that memo. Especially about politeness and discipline.
While he was taller and stronger looking than all others she had seen in her day, he was also the worst equipped hobgoblin she had ever come across.
Normally his kind would rather die than wear anything less than chain mail, but he was studding around barely covered, begging to be stabbed in the kidneys.
He could have easily gotten better gear at Moonrise or even here, but chose not to for some her eluding reason.
She didn't mind, him getting stabbed in the kidneys or other vital body parts would only bring advantages for her.
Or maybe not, if she was entirely honest.
The goblins respected him most, they liked the priestess, but they admired him.
Her they only feared. Enough to keep them in check, not enough to keep the lot together.
Maybe there really was a use for him, even if it was something as pitiful as keeping goblins in line.
She looked into his golden eyes, more animal, than any other humanoid she had ever seen, and said:
“The priestess is right, we need to find them and eliminate them. Not rush into the wildness without a plan or an idea what to expect.”
He glared back, crossing his arms, irritation flashing in his eyes and their shared connection.
“Well, we are practically useless right now. Better rush in any direction, than to sit on our asses doing a great amount of nothing.”
As if that wasn't his favorite activity.
“Of course we are going to search for them. Just in a organized way, with a plan.”, as she had already explained. She nodded in Guts direction, even the goblin had understood that.
“That is if you even know what that is, a plan.”
She kept holding eye contact, as he processed that statement.
His eyes widened for a second, before being reduced to slits, his cheeks and nose flushed slightly purple in humiliation perhaps, his lips pulling back revealing sharp teeth.
At the same time she felt the irritation grow to hot white anger through the Absolutes connection.
He was obviously one of those with a short fuse, bad at controlling it as well and even worse at hiding it at all.
Ready to explode at the slightest of provocations.
Easy prey. They would have eaten him alive back home. Here it was an easy advantage.
She felt her mouth curl to a smile.
Men of any kind were predictable.
Still ever surprising that the Absolute had taken such a poorly behaved beast under her wing, but alas she was just more graceful than Minthara herself would have ever been.
“Well, well, well”, he hissed through clenched teeth. “What's your grand plan, princess?”
Of course Minthara would never question the Absolute, but still in moments like this, it was hard not to.
What an utterly pathetic attempt to provoke her. Did he even try or was he really only that creative.
She opened her mouth to answer, but Ragzlin wasn't even paying attention anymore.
Of course he wasn't, would have been a great surprise if he had an attention span for more than three seconds.
She tugged on their connection to get him back on track.
By doing that she noticed he was not just daydreaming or enjoying the vacancy of his skull. He was instead starring in the direction of the entrance of the temple with an uncharacteristic focus.
She followed his glare but there was no sign of anything going on.
“We're under attack”, he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, grabbing his war hammer.
“What?”, asked Minthara
“We are under attack!”, the hobgoblin yelled, now once again visibly aggrieved.
“How do you know?”, she yelled back, but he was already half over the bridge in the direction he had been staring at.
“He's probably right. Listen.”, murmured Gut, now also tense.
Now that she focused there was still nothing.
“Are you sure?”, she asked. It would be bothersome if both of them were even more delusional than she had first thought.
“Yeah.”, Gut replied stiffly.
“It's faint. Could be anything really, better check still.”, she also trotted in the direction Ragzlin had vanished in.
She stopped at the middle of the bridge looking back.
“Would trust 'is senses, if I was you. Not good for strategy that one, Absolute gave 'im other uses”
Minthara blinked once very slowly. Hearing an attack from back here seemed unlikely. Not impossible though, the Absolutes power knew no bounds.
“So be it”, she got up and followed the path both of the others had taken.
As she left the room, there was the faintest noise, she normally would have put it up to goblin debauchery, probably wouldn't even have noticed it if she wasn't looking for it, but this was more. Crashing, screams, the roar of an animal, the faint beating of the war drums.
Someone really was attacking.
The Absolute was watching over her today and gave her an out of that brainless conversation.
Minthara grinned and pulled out her weapon, She was going to swiftly pay her back for this mercy by painting the stones of the temple red with the blood of these heretics.
Praise be.
_____________________________________________________________________
Dror had known it, felt it the whole time. Something was wrong. Something would go wrong. Of course something would go godsdamn wrong.
He had been on the edge for months, feeling the wrongness. Something was happening.
Something in the air, static, tension, building and building up, till it snapped.
That snapping was now.
The sound of battle from the front were faint, but sudden enough to be noticed.
The clanging of steel against steel, the screams of the wounded and dying.
“Defend the sanctum, defend the Absolute”, commanded the voice of his goddess in his head, loud and clear.
He chuckled as he ran past the bookshelves of Minthara's part of the sanctum, his feet barely feeling the cold of the stone floor.
The Absolute blessed him today.
No more fucking discussion, no more fucking tension. The enemy was their door and he was going to kill them, rip them into pieces until not even memory remained.
His teeth and claws itched at the thought, muscles ready to shift and be used in any way possible during confrontation.
He was filled with anticipation, anticipation and irritation that was quickly turning into a rush of pure, divine euphoria.
Dror knew, he wasn't allowed let go though.
The voice of the Absolute ordered so in his mind, to not lose himself in the rush, to keep in control. It was a hard ask, but he would obey, of course, like a good soldier.
He pushed the pure happiness away and focused on his breath. In and out and in and out.
“Try rallying the troops and don't get your 'ead bashed in, while ya at it. Would hate get struck managing the folks alone with the drow”, Priestess Gut grumbled in his mind.
“Aye”, he replied.
He jumped down the stairs. Landing on his feet without losing balance.
Good thinking. The goblins were still lazing around, some looked slightly confused at him, while the brighter ones quickly pretended to be busy.
“Oi, peeps. We are being attacked right now! So get up!”
How could they not hear the commotion outside? Were they dumb or deaf or just pretending to be more incompetent than they really were?
“You!”, he pointed at a woman with pink dyed hair, Sazza if he remembered correctly.
“Sound the drums, then tell the beast-masters to release the worgs. Rest, get of your asses and get ready and on your posts because this is not a drill!”
Most of the goblins scattered, running to high grounds, forming little groups of skirmishers.
He paced while watching the goblins do their tasks, the excitement too deep in his bones to stand still.
“Come back! We need to make an ordered advance”, Minthara's nagging voice suddenly appeared in his mind.
Couldn't she leave him alone just once? Not his fault she was slow.
Most of the goblins had gotten the massage by now, except for the usual few suspects.
“This is the reason everything takes forever here”, he complained loudly, in his mind.
He could hear the noise outside come even closer they must be in forth of the way to the door now.
“Good thing I'm here to herd everyone like a fucking dog or else this camp would go to shit in three seconds”, he thought, again quietly, to himself alone.
No need to start another fight during active battle.
Some goblins were still slacking.
“GO! I will have the most useless of you lot for dinner, so get on with it!”, he yelled, anger once again rising. His heart still beating rapidly in his chest.
“Take it from here?”, he asked Gut through their connection, feeling her at the top of the stairs.
“Aye, in Her name”, was the simple reply. No need for more.
The aftertaste of her emotions was bitter, but he didn't give a fuck.
Oh, he was giddy.
“Ragzlin, do not ignore me. We do not have enough information. ”, Minthara once again complained.
The anger he worked so hard to keep in its box, once again broke through.
“We don't have enough information? Whats that supposed to mean? We have all the fucking information we need!”, he thought only to himself again, because he cared oh so much about the the three times damned cooperation between then, as he dashed through the center hall of the sanctum powered by sheer spite, conveniently forgetting to give the drow a reply again.
Whups, so sad, anyway.
Not enough Information. He huffed.
It was an attack, obviously. The attackers were outside, obviously. He was going to kill them, obviously.
Information.
What more information did she need?
Deciding to put their heads on pikes or sending them to the druids, that was the only uncertainty he saw here.
With how slowly elves aged and functioned Minthara probably hadn't seen a real attack in as long as hes been alive.
It was really not that complicated.
“Don't you dare run outside. Using the inner structures would give us a clear advantage and less casualties.”, Minthara growled threatening, reading his intend.
“We need to have a united front.”
Dror did dare. She was not his superior, she couldn't tell him jack shit. She should stop acting like she was.
He didn't even defend himself, so much did he value the cooperation.
He violently shook his head. The sound of fighting now so clearly audible, that even the last one of these idiots must have heard it by now. Even though the intruders didn't make it in yet, still stuck outside.
Oh, they really wanted inside, where the rest of the horde remained.
That was hilarious. Dror caught himself almost laughing at the thought. They came really all this way to be butchered. A blessing, truly a blessing.
Euphoria once again reared its ugly head, blooming in his chest.
Don't get distracted, better focus on running up the stairs, falling would be rather humiliating. Minthara would bully him till the end of time for it.
A warning, no a command in his mind, not from the drow, but a real superior, no a goddess.
“Stay in control, do not lose yourself”
He would, he did, he was at it.
Dror gripped Faithbreaker with so much force his knuckles turned white, he was in control, he really was.
Running through the choke point that served as an entrance, all other noises started to fade out.
He focused on the pumping of his blood, the beating of his heart, the air in his lungs.
Things to keep him grounded.
The the cool air against his heated body, the stone against his feet, the noises of battle, the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood.
The hobgoblin skittered to a halt, almost smacking into the front door.
He ripped it open, revealing the courtyard.
It was pure chaos.
It was glorious.
He halted a moment in awe. The song of blades, spilled crimson coloring the floor and walls and the fight for life or death.
Goblins running about, barley able to hold their positioning. No real formation, no protocol.
Dror grinned. He could fix that.
_____________________________________
Priestess Gut was done. So very done.
An attack, of course. 'ad been all too silent the last few months.
Attacks was never good, always leading to death and further problems.
Power vacuums, screams for revenge, some orphaned brats.
What a mess.
Even now, when it 'adn't even started yet.
Or rather especially now.
Still they 'ad to defend the temple, the Absolute. 'er voice asked for it, warm, cutting and benevolent. The affection of 'er god filled 'er with 'oneyed sweetness.
True love, more powerful than she 'ad ever known.
Maybe she should look at the positives.
There were positives.
Like...
Like that at least the drow and the 'obgob could let off some steam, for example.
Their “rivalry” was more annoying than it 'ad any right to be.
Gut was one petty argument away from locking 'em both in the pens and letting 'em figure it out 'emselves.
Leading the camp would probably be so much less exhausting that way.
Ragzlin 'ad already vanished behind the walls of the temple. 'e would probably throw hisself at the nearest enemy without a single thought appearing in 'is thick skull.
Absolute gave the boy many boons, common sense not being one of 'em.
Better give 'im a 'int before 'e got 'isself killed and leave only 'er and Minthara to run this wreck.
Gut shuddered, a nightmare that would be. Alone would be fine, but with the drow?
She could vividly imagine the at most five days that 'orror would last, before the whole thing would inevitably collapse.
Absolute was powerful, but three were just too few eyes for a rebellious bunch like this.
“Try rallying the troops and don't get your 'ead bashed in, while ya at it. Would hate get struck managing the folks alone with the drow”, she murmured some sense into Ragzlin's 'ead.
'e could listen to reason. Sometimes. Ya just needed to be a bit sneaky and not behave like something better.
It was not that 'ard.
But showing basic respect to any goblin seemed to be impossible for the “civilised” folk.
Gut swallowed the resentment that festered in her like a wound, as long as she could remember.
It was interesting that no matter 'ow much time passed, the taste of debasement never got any less bitter. Like the rot, it just became more and more foul.
But no matter. She 'ad better things to worry about.
Ragzlin's answer was an instant and simple, “Aye”
Effective, typical for 'is kind.
The last touch of connection washed over her like water around rocks in a stream.
It plunged her into the emotions of a stranger, anticipation instead of tenseness, excitement instead of fear, delirium instead of dread, though just as intense.
Freak. Or just a 'obgoblin. 'ard to tell.
No sense of what kept ya alive, didn't seem feel the need to keep breathing that strongly.
Didn't fear death, didn't fear Archeron, didn't particularly fear the gods either.
A species most notable for being out of their fucking minds, every single one of 'em.
So blind, they lovingly adored a deity that would devour their soul on failure.
She was glad to be found by the Absolute, to be at last be free of that creeping monster. Served that false god long enough.
Now 'e was finally ash in the wind.
Gut 'eard the scuffling of her kin and the commanding bark of the 'obgob before she even entered the main hall.
Seemed like 'e did his job and did it well.
One in line.
She should probably check up on the other.
Minthara was smart and militaristic, but more stubborn than a mule.
There was a 'igh chance that she refused to fight with goblins and collected 'er drow instead.
Not optimal, but Gut didn't care as long as the drow did 'er part.
Who wouldn't choose their own kin if given the choice?
“Ragzlin and I is organizing the peeps, 'e might run off though. What's your doing?”, she asked the drow, making sure to stub 'er as a warning before speaking. Feeling respected made 'er a bit less nasty.
“He can not just run out. We need to make this as efficient as possible. We have no time for idiocy”, the drow stated, a frosty tone creeping in 'er voice.
“Might need one outside. Sending 'im is not the worst thing”, Gut respond, already resigning 'erself to listening to another hour of petty bickering when this was over.
“We are better off defending the inside. We know the sanctum, we have the clear advantage. My warriors can use the darkness and victory would be secure. Less casualty are guaranteed”
Less drow casualties was what she meant. Didn't even consider the goblins outside. Just disposable canon fodder to 'er. It was bitter, so very bitter.
Still her arguments were sensible, well thought out and most importantly true.
Going outside could kill 'em and as true souls they had worth more than the average goblin or drow.
But only 'er kin would be slaughtered like cattle.
The taste did never leave 'er mouth.
Ragzlin's voice interrupted 'er dilemma.
“Take it from here?”, 'e asked, in a less angry, pleading tone, 'e only used with 'er.
A true request, not a command wrapped in an illusion of choice.
Gut decided in that moment.
“In 'er name”, she answered 'im. It was vague enough of a statement to let him leave and make the drow not eat 'er alive, if she listened.
Minthara could call 'im back 'erself if she wanted. 'e would be fine.
“'E is gone. I will keep the main hall”, Gut informed the drow.
“Jaluk”, the drow swore sharply, directed at Ragzlin not at Gut. Good, as it should be.
While the she could not stop 'em from infighting she certainly could stay out of their way.
She walked on the platform above the gates of the spider pit.
'orrid, skittering creatures.
“Ya 'eared 'im. On ya posts! We will keep 'em outside”
She may be no 'obgob, but the lads and lasses had known 'er for more long enough to know she meant it.
They seemed to ready 'emselves, most slinked back in the shadows, none of 'em bruisers.
Mostly trackers and devouts.
No sane goblin would want to be the first one to be sent to the Absolute anyway.
Outside there is noise, fighting, screaming in common.
The priestess scowled. The waiting would be worse than fighting. She was patient or more patient the the rest of the lot, but still felt the tenseness pulling in her guts.
She glanced below to the offending region, suddenly once again aware of the long scar reaching from 'er collar bones to 'er 'ips.
Not marks of struggle or deceit, but something even worse, even more shameful in the warm glow of the Absolute.
Ritualistic scars, an initiation marking her body forever for a sect.
Something in 'er mind pulled 'er out of that 'ole.
The connection
One set of 'astened, 'eavy steps followed by even more folk, announced the arrival of the drow.
“He really is gone”, she stated.
“Yeah, 'obgobs, amiright?”
Some of her goblins chuckled, none of the drow did.
They seemingly didn't get it.
“With what right does he endanger the resources of the Absolute”, Minthara complained to seemingly no one, as Gut didn't particularly care.
The priestess was not sure what resources she meant either. Not the goblins, so much was sure. Maybe Ragzlin 'isself? The drow didn't seem to like 'im, but what did she know.
Probably more a thing of power than care.
Controlling where 'e goes, what 'e does, that kinda basic stuff.
“Well, ya can stay 'ere with me or go safe your resources: I don't mind either way”
Minthara squinted at 'er, seemingly searching for a sign of deceit.
There was none. Gut could lie and lie well, but why would she in this case.
The roar of an animal put a stop to Minthara's starring. Thank the Absolute.
“I will go”, she proclaimed with more stiffness than even the finest Nomog-Geaya priest could archive and marched her soldiers in the direction of the door.
Good. Lowered the chance of anyone coming through
To 'er right Shekt, a booyahg of slightly above average talent, made an unfunny joke about the size of the stick up 'er arse.
Of course only long after the drow was outside 'earing range.
A few lads and one lass chuckled.
Gut didn't reprimand the jest, didn't 'ave the nerve anymore. Not when 'er thoughts were more or less the same.
Then it was silent between 'em again.
There was noise outside, a shattered echo of the fight, just like this temple was a shattered echo of its former self. Like they probably were.
The cold emptiness of reality threatened to eat her 'eart and soul like so many times in her life, but this time she just reached out a bit, and the warm glow of the Absolute enveloped 'er with 'er boundless love.
Nothing like the burning, yet utterly cold presence of Maglubiyet.
Comfort
That sweet sense of security roughly shattered by a stray arrow swooshing past 'er head.
Everyone stared in a second of shock.
“Up there!”, Azrak, shouted, pointing above.
Gut's single eye shot to the blonde woman and then up.
On the wooden beams near the ceiling almost out of the range of 'er dark vision were three, no four washed out, gray silhouettes.
They must 'ave crawled in 'ere through some hole.
In the back of 'er mind she vaguely remembered a discussion about an unstable wall right above the main entrance on the day of Minthara's arrival.
They 'adn't really spoken about it after, because that arrival 'ad sure been something.
Another arrow zipped past her, 'itting the wall behind 'er.
She murmured a spell, so old and familiar that she could have cast it in 'er sleep.
Golden energy started flickering around 'er building a protective shell.
Just in time, as a fire bold crashed against 'er, only to be extinguished by the shield.
A 'uman smeared with blood, a dark 'aired woman, slid down the ladders, pulled out 'er great axe and let out a terrifying roar.
She grabbed Mrak by the shoulder before 'e could react and flung 'im across the room, hitting Muzul.
Another 'uman, a blond man this time, followed right behind 'er, red glimmering sword raised.
All while fire and arrows still rained from above.
This was bad news. Real bad.
Gut stayed exactly where she was, if she fled the rest would follow instantly.
Shouldn't 'ave send Ragzlin away, or Minthara.
Out of the corner of 'er eye, she saw Azak pulling back an arrow and releasing it, while the rest scattered.
Nobody 'ere was really a melee fighter. Trying too keep the distance was their best bet.
An eldritch blast boomed, bringing the enemy caster, an elf in long robes slightly out of balance.
The other elf, an archer caught him, before 'e could fall.
It didn't really matter though, because the woman was cleaving through Tozard before 'e could even switch from bow to dagger.
Tearing through the chest with a strength no goblin could possibly match.
Then 'e was gone.
The battle 'ad changed from seven against four to six against four in one well placed swing.
That was really, really bad news.
The sword fighter jumped from behind the woman and dashed up the stairs, clearly aiming for 'er.
Gut prepared 'erself, reading a sleep spell.
At the same time she reached out to Ragzlin, she gripped into 'is mind, sending 'er distress, but was immediately shaken off and drowned in 'is battle rush.
The intense emotion disoriented 'er for a second, allowing the fighter to 'it 'er in the side.
'e pulled back his blade as the burn spread and the wound pulsed.
Gut stared at 'im, meeting 'is strangly pale eyes and released 'er spell.
'e immediately slumped to the ground, unconscious.
She only then grasped her wound, 'er 'and immediately red and sticky with 'er own blood.
The others didn't seem to fare any better.
Mrak was pulling on an arrow, buried deep in 'is shoulder, while Muzul called out a healing word,
Shekt and Greez, one of ‘eir warlocks, tried to return fire, but the elven fuckers 'ad the 'igh ground.
Another eldritch blast ripped through the air, taking down the elvish booyahg.
He fell down the beam crashing with a loud crack into the hard, stone floor.
Staying where 'e landed, still and dead.
Good
The warrior roared like a feral animal, which was still better than executing more of Guts kin.
As if she also 'ad a connection the 'uman glared at Gut and started barreling up the stairs, murder in 'er eyes.
Gut tactically retreated closer to the spider pit, focused this time.
'er side ached like a bitch, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.
Predictably the woman followed 'er, 'er long legs giving 'er an unfair advantage.
Gut came to a halt, right on the edge of the cursed pit.
The swing aimed for 'er 'ead came directly after, she ducked under it and skittered behind 'er foe.
With a almost automatic 'and gesture she released the thunderwave.
The warrior lost 'er balance and tumbled into the pit.
Gut gave 'erself a second to breathe and enjoy the screams.
She was getting too old for this.
Then there was silence again from both rooms.
Maybe she should check on the idiots outside.
After she restrained the fighter and 'ealed 'erself up.
__________________________________
Chaos still reigned.
“Hold your positions!”, Dror commanded. “In Her name!”
The goblins were more confident and reassured in his present, a few even cheered. It felt good.
Even if it was only natural for them to follow one of his kind.
They held up good under his leadership.
A roar of an animal, half hidden behind columns.
Had that been there the whole time?
Loud, brown, big. A Bear?
A rangers beast? Wild animal? Druid? Naaah, the druids were cowards, they wouldn't dare.
He ran out into the open, analyzing the patterns of moving bodies, zigzagging between allies.
The rhythm of battle slowly infecting his step.
Someone, Gut, touched his mind, but he didn't care to or even could understand anymore, her words or emotions were washed away in the movement and the noise and the euphoria.
He locked eyes with an enemy. A human, blunt claws and blunt teeth and soft hide and fear in his strangely apelike eyes.
Not the bear, but it would do.
Not willing to give up and lay down as well, the dead goblin at his feet proving that fact.
Good. This would be a fun
Still probably one sided, the human was no soldier, more like prey, a mercenary and one that had bitten off more than he could chew.
Dror was a soldier, he had training, he had protocol and it kicked in.
Tactics, taught by a captain, a real military leader, drilled until they became second nature.
Stay by your comrades, use terrain, don't waste time thinking, just follow the orders and follow rhythm of battle. Dozens of others echoing in his memory in the blink of an eye. None of them mattered now except for that last one.
Follow the flow of battle, follow the rush.
He bared his teeth, hissing at the challenger.
A small group of goblins had started surround the unfortunate merc, drawn by Dror's presence.
His chest swelled with pride.
They really did respect him. He was really a sergeant here, maybe even a captain.
Captain would sound good.
The human was clearly no leader, but he would do for first blood.
Though there must be a leader somewhere. There always was.
He would find them and he was going to bash their skull in. An easy way to solve this raid.
First things first, this guy.
Dror made a slow attack, cautious, just a test to see what he was dealing with.
The human, jumped back, holding onto his sword for dear life.
Not that fast, not that strong it seemed.
He swung Faithbreaker a second time, but the boy had already switched places.
Fine, Dror could also play the long game, exhaust him and then strike.
He was ripped out of his thoughts by a sudden, stinging pain.
In his distraction he had been a tad to slow, not really reacting to the incoming slash.
He blinked at the shallow gash on his arm.
What?
He looked at the wound, dripping. Then on the floor. Both crimson.
That was not supposed to happen. How? WHY?
The smug fuck grinned in victory, having landed the first hit.
Oh, Dror was gonna bash his ugly, blunt teeth in and he would enjoy it.
He snarled at the human.
And what where the goblin even doing, standing around while the red slowly bled into his vison?
”Obey!”, an important voice demanded, angry this time.
It was the most important, somehow. How could it even be that important, if it was just a stupid voice?
It didn't understand song, the dance, didn't fucking bleed on this battle field.
No.
Wait, wasn't that the voice of the Absolute?
How wasn't he sure anymore? How could he have slipped already?
Why did he even follow some random voice in his head?
The control faltered.
Washed away by boiling outrage and shock.
He didn't really notice, because the man almost landed another hit, using his foes distraction.
Dror growled, raising his weapon in turn, almost hitting as well. Only almost.
He attacked a second and a third time, but the rat evaded every strike.
“Stay in control, calm down, calm down. Everyone can do it.”, the hobgoblin feverishly thought as he swung his hammer once more, wound pulsing, body running hot with frustration and rage.
The human kept dodging. This was getting fucking ridiculous.
Then the smug brat attacked again
Dror used the momentum of his last swing to dodge the incoming hit, sloppily aimed at his stomach this time.
The audacity. A sloppy strike. Was that all he was worth? A sloppy strike?
His pride stung, as did his arm wound, blood still dripping onto the floor. What the fuck was going on here?
The Absolute was gone, treacherous silence from his goddess that suddenly felt like an enemy. Was that supposed to happen? Was this some fucking test, some stupid little game?
He glanced at his foes weapon. Common iron, nothing fancy, smeared with a deep crimson.
Had that glorfied piece of scrap metal really cut him?
Another strike, equally as bad.
Dror growled. Was he really that little of a threat?
He would show him threat!
Fury sparked to new heights and he felt something shift in him.
The red mist now fully covered his field of view and the rhythm finally formed into a full dance.
He quickened his pace, boosted by his new vigor; Dodge, dodge, swing, block, let the goblin hit, about time they did something, use the moment, rip away the blade, hand stings as it bites into his flesh, throw it as as far as possible, close the gap, swing and hit, bones cracking, blood splattering, true fear in his opponents eyes, swing and swing and swing again, hit and shatter his leg with all your power, watch him fall and break his neck with another attack.
Then it is over.
He was dead, the enemy was dead, yet there was still no release.
He still feels wrong, used, vulnerable.
It's funny, somehow.
Next thing he knows, he is laughing, manically, not knowing what else to do, as the blood is drip, drip, drips from his hammer and from his hands and his face, fangs itching, feeling sharper and more dangerous than usual, the wounds are still pulsing.
He can almost taste the blood.
“What the hells?”, he cackles, bleeding, water blurring his sight, feeling horribly alone, the first time in a long time.
Luckily that feeling didn't last.
Mostly because he was mauled by a bear.