DORULL SAGA - BLOOD VENGEANCE
PART ONE
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As they were spending their lives deep
underneath the surface of the earth, in the holes, tunnels, caverns and caves,
goblins attuned their eyesight to darkness. The underground exploration often
left them without a source of artificial light. Something which didn’t bother
them at all. For many, especially the youngest ones, rarely venturing onto the
surface, stronger light than that of a torch was unthinkable, and usually not
needed.
While he was falling into the abyss near
Khoill, Moorg asked himself why his eyes couldn’t penetrate through the thick
darkness of this ominous place. Far above him, a barely visible and weak line
of light, from the gap in the ground, in which he so suddenly decided to jump,
was shrinking rapidly. What frightened and worried him at this time, more than
the surrounding darkness, was sudden and total cease of communication with the
amulet. Prompted by the explicit command to jump. To find salvation in the
abyss, was the only reason why he found himself in this situation. Since then,
however, despite all of his questions, the medallion has remained silent.
Stale, musty, stagnant air was choking Moorg
more and more, with every passing second. The pungent stench of decaying flesh,
meant only one thing, goblin was quite close to the bottom of this horrendous
pit. Below him were undoubtedly a lot of bodies. The heavy odor of rot was
unbearable.
“Help me! I am not stopping! I need to stop!”
Moorg almost cried, involuntarily brushing the medallion.
Immediate and highly anticipated answer, or
any reaction for that matter, was absent once again. Goblin was confused
because of it. He felt scared. His fickle, skittish mind, would always think of
the worse. He trembled in fear, by the notion of this incredible power, finally
deciding to flee from him. Was this it? Why couldn’t he feel the magic anymore?
Did he do something wrong? Did the amulet abandon him? The mere thought of that
terrified him more than anything. He couldn’t cope with being alone again.
However, when all seemed lost, a sudden, mild,
tingling sensation he felt in the tips of his fingers, gave him hope. Medallion
was still with him, trying to reconnect. Trying to communicate with him. The
veil of darkness surrounding him was becoming ever so thinner. The sporadic
flashes of magical energy, followed by the incoherent sounds, begin seizing his
body in waves. As if they were trying to break through something, to reach him.
Dark veil that was surrounding him,
surrounding this entire place, clearly interfered with the energy transfer.
That became apparent, once it started to fade. This temporary weakness, that
sense of helplessness soon disappeared too. Moorg felt the magic returning,
like an adrenaline surge. It filled his entire body. It gave him back his lost
confidence. The amulet will save him again, surely. It will safely land him,
onto the ground. It will show him the way out of this awful place, so he could
continue with his journey. With his mission.
“Forgive me.” Suddenly, a barely audible
whisper came from within.
It came from the medallion. A few moments
later, Moorg perceived all the hopelessness of the situation. The void that was
surrounding him, suddenly disbanded. Goblin could now see much clearly,
although he immediately wished that was not the case. The ground was just
twenty yards below him. He reached the bottom of the abyss. All hope of a safe
landing, vanished in an instant. Nothing, not even a miracle, could save him
now.
The impact was vicious, much more than Moorg
could ever anticipate. His face distorted in pain. His feet shattered, almost
fusing with the ground. Both of his legs became wedged. Unnaturally curved
backwards, tight like the crossbow limbs, until the pressure became far too
great for the goblin’s bones. His ligaments and tendons gave up first. Then his
knees caved in, crumpling like they were a piece of paper. Out of his ruptured
muscles and veins sprayed a significant amount of blood. Dozens of sharp,
needle sized shards tore his flesh and skin with ease. Moorg’s abdomen filled
with blood, as his pelvis moved up several inches from the sheer force of the
impact. In a violent jerk, the goblin's head fell forward, shattering his neck
vertebrae.
Moorg could clearly feel every injury, until
the pain became unbearable. Until it seized his entire body. His every nerve
screamed out of agony. It drove him insane. His eyes were bulging, he opened
his mouth. He wanted to yell, to try and ease the pain. But the shock made him mute.
And as he became nauseated, Moorg’s body reached the threshold of the pain. His
breathing slowed. Cold sweat came over him. Moments later, he fell down on the
stone ground of the pit. He was dead.
