DORULL SAGA - SWAMP OF DEATH
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Thick, almost knee-high
carpet of fog, looked menacing, as it rippled from the gusts of cold, northern
wind. Bleak silence, interrupted by the scarce, jittery neigh from horses, made
the passengers even more restless. They’ve traveled just over two weeks, but in
this unvaried scenery, the journey felt like an eternity.
Sudden lightning tore across the
sky, as the distant thunder rolled over, bringing first drops of rain. Leading
the way, riding ahead of the caravan, lieutenant Elkul Tarmis lifted his right
hand, signaling others to pick up their pace. He was a rather large man, with
broad shoulders and muscly arms. Elkul was in his forties, but already had more
gray hair, than not. With the constant grim on his face, since they left
Gollvin, it was apparent that he did not approve on this mission. With just two
soldiers under his command, he knew that they are very vulnerable. Although he
completely understood the reasons for this ill conceived, hastened attempt of
sending goods. His opinion differed from those of the miner’s council. They
should've stick to the protocol, and waited for the escort from Thirel post.
Yes, it was true. Their food
reserves were almost out, but they would have resorted to stretching the
rations. It could've been done. It would be wiser. Nevertheless, Lieutenant
Tarmis was proud of being chosen for this mission. His allegiance to Gollvin
was beyond everything. Besides, Elkul had yet another task. The list of demands
signed by all of the townsfolk, addressed to the Vallsynk council. Their
relations towards the miners was borderline insulting. It was obvious that
something had to change. These were desperate times. How much more will they be
able to endure?
The road was by now well drenched
in rain. Even the horses had trouble treading through the mud. Pungent stench
of foul moss and rotten undergrowth, was all over this gray swamplands. Remains
of old, long lost caravans laid about. Eroded, etched by time, as a somber
reminder of the danger, that was every given day, in this brutal place. As the
sun started to set, caravan came to the first outpost. Over fifty feet tall,
wooden watchtower, stood opposed to the Hanlock hills. Long time ago, this was
a strategically important fort. But now, it was just a casual resting place for
many travelers.
“Tend to the horses and carts.“
Tarmis gave quick orders “We'll rest 'till morning.“
Long time ago, in these hills,
there was a rather large lair of ogres. A vicious tribe of murderers and
pillagers, who sought to spread fear and terror all over Tanmar. They made
enemies in every other race, which ultimately led to their final demise. Few of
those who managed to survive, fled somewhere far and deep to the north of
Laorn.
Half an hour later, a caravan was
secured in front of the small cave. Its entrance was large enough to bring in
all the horses. For the miners, their carts would have to suffice as a resting
place for the night. Lookout was empty. The palisade that was surrounding it,
was locked shut. Soldiers from Thirel post weren't due to arrive at this
outpost for about three weeks. Somewhat eroded, covered in moss and overgrown,
thick weeds, the small fort certainly saw the better days. Yet still, it stood
in spite of the harsh weather.
“All is done lieutenant.“ one of
the soldiers that was helping miners, came to the mound above the cave entrance
“But it would be mighty fine, if we were to sleep inside that post.“
“Any problems?“
“A few.“ the soldier sat beside
“Let's just say, they weren't happy with the order to remain in the dark.“
“Nothin', that good night of rest
can't be fixed.“ Elkul answered.
“Aye.“ the soldier agreed.
As the miners fell asleep, the
three soldiers took lookout positions above the camp. Rain was easing, as the
clouds began to disperse revealing clear, beautiful night skies. Full moon
shone over the valley, illuminating hundreds of puddles at the same time. It
was a stunning spectacle of flickering lights. The spectacle that made the
swamp look almost nice. Something which Elkul never had a chance to observe.
Blinded by this wonderful display, soldiers were completely unaware of the
threat that lurked behind their backs.
A gang of over two dozen heavily
armed goblins stumbled upon caravan tracks four days ago. Catching them was
easy enough, so they went ahead, right to these hills. It was an ideal place
for setting up an ambush. Goblins had to be patient, to try and take humans by
surprise. And now, as they were sitting still in their hiding holes, the
opportunity presented itself. The humans fell asleep.
“Kill 'em all!“ grisly shriek broke
the silence “Show no mercy!“
Caught by surprise, soldiers
reacted slowly, almost sluggish. Goblins were already all around them. There
was just enough time to grab hold of the nearest weapons. Outnumbered and
exposed, their only viable option was to hold together, hoping that they could
fend off the attack. But goblins were a couple steps ahead. In one swift
maneuver, they’ve managed to separate the soldiers from each other. With one
eye on the camping site, Elkul Tarmis somehow dodged every attack. His moves
were calculated. He knew he needed to keep composure. Just one, small mistake could
be fatal. And if fighting this many enemies at the same time wasn't difficult
enough, he had to keep an eye out on the sleeping miners.
Goblins attacks were vicious,
always in pairs. They couldn't stand a chance otherwise. Humans were almost
double in size, which forced them to find the advantage in numbers. Wave upon
wave, it seemed like their attack was never-ending. And by doing so, they
weren't giving human soldiers even a second, to take a breather.
Barely audible sigh, came to the
right of lieutenant Tarmis, as he glanced at one of his combatants. Soldier was
on his knees, trying to pick up the sword, with his gruesomely mangled hand.
His head was tilted awkwardly to the side. It seemed that he could not
comprehend the loss of a limb. Fight was already over for the other soldier,
yet his beheaded body still could not find peace. A couple of goblins were
beating him beyond recognition. For in their awakened bloodlust, they became
senseless monsters.
“Fight soldier!“ Elkul yelled to no
avail.
But it was too late, goblins were
on top of the unfortunate soldier in an instant. One hard hit, cracked the
soldier's head split open. He was dead even before the second strike fell upon
him. Goblins proceed onto hitting his lifeless body, until they made sure there
was nothing else to break. Lieutenant Tarmis could only watch helplessly, as
the goblin raid party suddenly split in two. They were moving towards the
miner’s resting camp. And he knew, he couldn't do anything about that. There
were still ten odd goblins surrounding him. Taunting him. Eager to spill his
blood. The chances of survival were fading rapidly. There was only one thing on
Elkul’s mind. To try and take out as many of those rats with him.
Goblins jumped him, at the same
time as that other group unleashed the killing spree onto the unsuspecting
miners. Somehow, Tarmis managed to deflect the first few waves, and in process
inflict mortal wounds to two or three of his attackers. But, a single slip of
concentration proved to be enough to turn this fight around, as one goblin
crept behind him. Swift, precise thrust of the sharp dagger, struck Elkul's
lower back, rendering him temporarily incapacitated. Sharp pain inflamed all of
the nerves, as the blade scraped his backbone. By twisting his wrist, the
goblin considerably widened the gash. That was his first mistake. Release of
the pressure, restored the sensation in the lieutenant's extremities. Second
one proved to be fatal, as the goblin stood too close.
Driven by the rage, Tarmis turned
vigorously, swinging his sword, plunging it deep into the goblin's
exposed torso. And in his rage, he drove it far too deep. It took him a
couple of tries to free the blade, which was stuck in between the ribs of the
now dead goblin. And in that split second, he put his guard down. Another
goblin was right on top of him, lunging with the spear, aiming at Elkul's
chest. In that instant, lieutenant Tarmis knew that he was beaten. His whole
life flashed before his eyes. Surprising him a bit, as to how calm he accepted
this fate.
Sharp, jagged tip, pierced easily
through Elkul's chainmail, just missing his heart, and went straight through
the back, under his shoulder blade. Against all odds, he was still alive,
although badly injured. Pain was somewhat bearable, but Tarmis knew he was
losing a lot of blood, with every passing second. He felt weak, dizzy and
helpless. His legs could not support him anymore. In despair, Elkul swung his
sword wildly, but missed. The awkward attempt took all of the remaining
strength, as he fell to his knees. One glance at the miners camp told Tarmis
what he already feared. He was to die last.
Lieutenant Elkul's sword slipped
from his numb fingers. He felt the touch of a cold, steel blade, against his
exposed neck. A moment of absolute clarity, in which he came at peace with
himself, ended abruptly as the knife went in. Tarmis closed his eyes, exhaling
for the very last time. He was dead.
Somewhat later, goblins gathered
around the miners campsite. They were all curious to see the spoils. But more
importantly, they had to leave this place, as soon as possible. It took them
some time to harness all of the horses. As if animals purposely defied, these
new, different, unknown masters.
“Moorg's power is rising, as we
claim these treasures!“ the largest goblin of them all yelled, pointing his fat
finger towards their apparent leader, who stood tall on the roof of the cart.
“Moorg! Moorg! Moorg!“
“Zuut will soon feel the strength
of our true leader, Moorg!“ large goblin yelled again.
“Moorg, Moorg, Moorg!“ goblins were
now even louder, in approval of these words.
“Enough!“ Moorg raised his hand
authoritatively “Get your arses on the wagons. We need to move!“
The dawn was still a couple of
hours away, as a small caravan resumed its journey. No longer towards the
south, but now to the east. Under the impression of this great victory, goblins
were still acting wild, unbridled. Intoxication from the recent fight, hindered
them to sit still. They were jumping all around the wagons, wildly swinging
their swords, trying to re-enact the attack, over and over again. For many
young goblin warriors, this was a completely new experience. And a wondrous
feeling. One which they will remember for the rest of their lives.
A few older, wiser goblins, sat
calmly on the roofs of the wagons. Remembering those days, when they felt the
same as the young ones. A long gone time, when goblins dared to defy other
races. Brave warriors turned into cowards, as they’d chosen to spend most of
their time hidden deep underground. Thus avoiding any contact with the surface
dwellers. Moorg was determined, in intent, to bring much needed changes to his
kind. But first of all, he had to become a king. First step was already made.
Stealing the human treasure. This would give him the means to challenge for the
crown. Zuut was their king for a very long time, but it seemed that somewhere
down the line, he lost the ability to lead.
Long ago, Zuut was certainly one of
the bravest, strongest warriors in the tribe. But all those years which he
spent lulled in a false sense of power, served only for endless feasts and
drinking. Because of that, in Moorg's eyes, he was no longer fit to wear the
crown. But still, he had to tread carefully, for Zuut's followers were
numerous. And they were loyal.
Furtively, when he felt assured
that no one was looking, Moorg carefully took a rather small, silver disc, out
of his pocket. It was about the size of his palm, made from a very light metal
alloy, unknown to goblins. Mild, red light, would flash occasionally, from the
small indent in the center of the disk, followed by a short, quiet, buzzing
noise. With the tips of his fingers, Moorg lightly brushed over the smooth
surface of the disc, as if he was taking care of his child.
“Your sacrifice won't be in vain,
father.“ goblin whispered, as he put the disc safely back into his pocket.
They soon left Hanlok behind,
heading towards the east. In the distance, somewhere above Laorn, a
thunderstorm was brewing. Omen of the dark days that were ahead.
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