RoE General > The Bard (IC)

The goblin

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DM B:
Moergan’s opponent tried backing up to give itself some more room, but he somehow managed to stumble forward and keep inside its reach. The goblin growled again, a low throaty sound much like a dog’s snarl. It dropped the spear and snatched it’s sword from the belt. Moergan’s limbs felt like lead, he could only watch as the goblin grabbed his jerkin and made ready to drive his blade through and end the fight. 'Cuiraécen, give me strength.' He somehow managed to strike out with his left fist. It connected with a satisfying crunch. The goblin let go of his armor and the sword-thrust went wild. Moergan swung his own weapon at the goblin, the spell of dizziness all but gone. Steel blades rang together again and again. 'And it is when you face the creatures of Evil that you shall truly know the might of our Lord. For He is ever with you and He extends His blessings to men of true courage in their hour of need. All praise to Haelyn.' The words of his father’s household priest rang in his mind. The citation was something of a favorite of his, one that he was repeating over and over again. He had always seemed a silly old man, but Moergan had a sudden moment realization – perhaps the Book of Laws and the priest hadn’t been so silly after all. Perhaps it had only been his own lack of experience that prevented him from understanding the true meaning of those words. Given the present situation, however, he now understood pretty well. It was moments like these, when you were locked in mortal combat with the servants of evil, your faith was really tested. And if you stayed true and kept your courage, then Haelyn would grant you victory.

DM B:
The goblin was not the most accomplished swordsman Moergan had fought. It did not seem to adhere to any known drill, at least not one which Moergan was familiar with. It just kept up a steady barrage of swift slashes and sudden thrusts. Only his superior reach allowed him to keep the dancing blade away. He made a few attacks of his own but the goblin had no problem dodging his wild swings. 'I, Moergan Shaeme, Noble born, is having my ass kicked by this pathetic excuse of a warrior. I will be the laughing stock of the family when words of my defeat reach them.' It became very clear to him that he was not winning this fight, not even with the image of Haelyn in his mind. Moergan felt no fear, only a cold realization that he was probably going to die here at the hands of this unworthy creature. He was already panting from the effort and keeping the goblin at bay was getting more difficult. Perhaps the old armsmaster was right; maybe he was in poor shape. The fight had lasted only a few minutes and already he was heaving for air. Back on his father’s estate he could outrun and outfight every boy of equal age. But then again, the north was nothing like home. 'Breathe. Breathe you idiot. If you are going down let it be by the blade, and not from fainting.'

DM B:
It was blind luck that saved him. The goblin’s sword had looked to be in poor condition to start with, made more from iron than steel. Repeated blows form his heavy blade must have weakened the metal. By rights it should have gone straight through his armor, gutted him good and that would have been the end of it. Instead the brittle steel snapped clean off just inches above the guard. The thrust still held enough power to drive the point between the metal scales of his amour. But instead of piercing his bowels the tip twisted and embedded itself in the fleshy part of his hip. It hurt like hell but he managed a backswing of sorts. The blow hit the goblin in the shoulder area. It did not bite as deep as he would have liked, but the goblin screamed and its shortsword fell from limp fingers. He tried for a follow up to the head, but his left leg gave away and he nearly fell. 'If it tries to run it will get away, there is naught to do about that.' But the goblin did not run, instead it snatched Moergan’s dagger from his belt using its good hand. Still off balance and unable to follow up his attack, Moergan stumbled backwards. The goblin came at him snarling. It must have realized that it was outmatched; a dagger is not a weapon to fight swords with. Yet it did not lack in determination. It came in low, but this time Moergan stuck to the drill. Thrust-parry-slash. The blade caught the goblin across the jaw. This time the blade bit deep, shearing flesh and crushing bone. The goblin went limp and sagged to the ground. With one deft slash he cut its throat to make sure it remained down.

DM B:
“All praise to Haelyn.” His shout echoed through the woods. ‘It seems Haelyn favors those who help themselves. I should have known better than to somehow expect the goblin to roll over and die just because I had a leap of faith.’ He bent down to retrieve his dagger. 'I better get back and warn the others, there are probably other goblins nearby.' He suddenly felt very dizzy, swayed and almost fell. He felt weary to the bone; his entire body throbbed with the pain of his wounds and his lungs burned as if on fire. 'Cuiarécen did indeed offer me strength and now it is withdrawn.' It was common knowledge among warriors that the God of Battle gave men strength to fight on when they were weary. After the fighting stilled this strength was withdrawn, leaving the recipient weak and shivering. ‘I must rest for a while. And have a drink of water - if the goblin did not pollute the pond.’ Moergan limped past the cooling corpse and over to the pond. As he bent down to drink, his legs gave away and he fell forward into the water. The cold water revived him and he scrambled out. “Kriesha take the cold” he muttered. It had gotten quite dark while he was fighting, too dark to actually see the now red waters of the pool. He bent down again, carefully this time, and drank from the pond. It tasted of blood. 'My blood.' I must have taken more damage than I realized. He bent to examine his thigh. The goblin’s sword point was still embedded in his flesh. That was good, or so said the field surgeon. As long as the point stayed put he would not loose too much blood. ‘I better get back. Just one more drink of water and then I’ll rest for a little while...’

DM B:
“Khaiarén, Khaiarén”. People shouting. ‘Why are they shouting? Is the Baron lost in the woods?’

“Khaiarén, Khaiarén”. The voices were getting closer. Men with torches and drawn swords. ‘Probably after the goblins. That is what we need, more goblin scouts.’

“Over here, I’ve found him” a voice called out. ‘Wilfred, my friend.’ The men with the torches were closing in on him. ‘This goblin is already dead, you better look for his friends though.’ Moergan tried to speak again, but the words did not reach his lips. “You are hurt my friend, let my have a look”. Wilfred bent down to examine him. “Hey sarge, Moergan’s hurt bad” Wilfred called to the man next to him. “Hurt himself has he? Serves him well for deserting on us. Hey Moergan, I’ll see you hang for this. Get him on his feet, we’re moving out”. Moergan tried to protest, but his voice seemed to have left him. ‘Deserting? Not me, I went to kill me some goblins.’ The sergeant moved away, southing orders for the search party to gather around him. “Aye sarge, will do” answered traitor Wilfred. ‘Do you not realize what had happened here? Can you not see the goblin?’ Moergan wanted to scream at them. “This might hurt a bit Moergan; I’m goanna pull out the blade and then close the wound. Keep still or you’ll hurt yourself even more”. He steeled himself, but as soon as Wilfred touched the wound he could do nothing but scream and twitch. His leg was on fire, could they not see that? Fools all of them. The goblins were going to burn them all. “Stannis, Erik, hold him down while I remove it, will you. Garred, run to the sarge and tell him that Moergan didn’t hurt himself, that creature did”. Good man Wilfred, a man of the Blood even if Bastard born. “Now, let’s get this over with shall we”. Strong hands griped him and held him down. Then there was fire and pain until the darkness claimed him.

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