It was not a long enough moment. The goblin came straight back at him, claws trying to scratch his face. The thing was about the same height as him, but much worse breath. It's breathing was as ragged as Rangor's own, forcing a putrid wave of rotten meat into his nostrils. Being a dwarf, Rangor's race had long ago adapted to bad smells. When mining, gas can escape from the ground, and who knows what will be dug up. Centuries of this had forced the dwarven nasal system to change. But still, the smell of half digested snake meat made Rangor want to vomit.
In fear of his life, he deflected the goblin's main blow with his shield, leaving scratch marks on the surface. Dagger in the other hand, he thrust a killing blow at the goblins heart. Unfortunately, the dagger missed the target and cut the foul creature's ribs instead. Still, every blow counted.
Two things were driving the young dwarf at the moment. The first was the rage he felt. He had a personal history with goblins. A more recent history with this goblin in particular. Rangor hadn't learned how to take a defeat yet... Earlier that same day, Rangor left Kaladim with fellow rogue and friend, Glodsson. They were deep in discussion about the different methods of training each had.
"The way I see it, the more agile you are, the less chance your opponent has in hitting you." Glodsson stated, perhaps for the third time in 2 minutes.
Rangor shook his head. "The flaw in your argument is that when a blow lands, it's gonna hurt. Plus, the stronger you are, the faster the fight is going to end"
"But if the fight drags on, you're gonna wish you were able to avoid a few of those hits"
Rangor held up his hand. When he was sure he had Glodsson's attention, he pointed to a goblin a little way ahead. It was Glodsson's turn to shake his head.
"What is it with you and goblins? You don't stop talking about them. You wanna be one, or something"
Rangor shot him such a look of loathing that Glodsson actually flinched.
"Fine. Well, if you wanna do it, go ahead. I'm headin' back in to get a drink"
With that, he turned around and went back into Kaladim, nodding at the guards as he passed. Rangor made his way to the hill where he saw the goblin pass over.
As he got near the top of the hill, he saw the goblin standing around. He tucked his long blonde beard into his belt, to stop it getting in the way, and began to sneak up behind it. However, he was as quiet as a heard of running elephants. The goblin turned on Rangor and tried to wrap his hands around his neck. The dwarf's neck was thicker than the goblin had anticipated, though, and its fingers didn't meet each other. Rangor brought his arms up and batted the goblin's stringy arms away, and struck out with his dagger.
The fight seemed to be going well, for the first few seconds. Somehow, though, the goblin was beginning to overwhelm him.
Rangor looked over his shoulder. He was too far from the guards to get their attention. Fear began to creep in to his mind. Maybe, just maybe, it would be wiser to make a tactical retreat and fight again when he was better rested, less hungry.
Back a step, then another. It was dawning on him that he had gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle. A pretty major mistake, looked like he wouldn't make another.
He was bleeding now from at least a dozen small wounds; whereas all the goblin had was two or three small cuts. His strength was draining from him, he was getting weaker.
Rangor collapsed on the floor, battling with consciousness. As he looked up, he saw the goblin, grinning over him. Its jagged teeth drew ever closer to Rangor's arm. It meant to eat him, he knew, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he did the only thing he could think of. He passed out from the pain.
Coming as a complete surprise to him, Rangor awoke. When his eyes closed after the fight, the last thing he expected to do was survive. He'd expected to be nothing but a meatless skeleton by now.
Rangor looked at his arm. It had a bandage on it, as did most of his body. He looked around, to figure out where he was. In a small room, in a blood stained bed. Apart from the bed, there was nothing else in the room.
He got up, and went over to the door. On the other side, Glodsson was chatting with a high elven girl. She had red hair, tied up at the back. Against her chair were a large shield and a club.
As he opened the door wider, it creaked, which startled the elf. She stood up, momentarily forgetting that she was in a dwarven building, and hit her head on the ceiling. She fell back again, stunned. As she pulled her hand from her head, fresh blood was left on her hand. She cursed in elfish, stood up slower, and chanted. Her head was covered in a blue glow, and when she touched it with her other hand, no blood came away.
Glodsson suppressed a laugh, but when he saw Rangor, his face easily became serious.
"You're a lucky son of a she-wolf, you know. That goblin was about to make a meal of you. This lass here cast a spell on it as it sank its teeth into you. It yelped and ran away. I was bringing you a vodka some warrior had given me, which she insisted I pour on your wounds. I bandaged you up as best I could, then she said a few funny words and you were covered in pretty blue lights. The remaining wounds I couldn't cover healed themselves up"
Rangor looked at the elf. She was pretty, in a tall, stretched out sort of way. She would look better with a short beard.
"You're a cleric?" he enquired of her.
She nodded. "Yes, but I've just started out. I had just handed over some belts to Mr Nusbeck, and was on my way home when I saw you in trouble"
Rangor dropped to one knee. "Then I swear to you, should you ever need my services for anything, you need but ask. I am Rangor, son of Rangar"
The elven girl smiled as she removed his dressings. "I am Weeno. Your wounds have healed nicely, except for this one." She pointed to the oval shape on Rangor's arm. "That's where the goblin bit you. I'm afraid this scar will stay with you for as long as your arm is attached to your shoulder"
Rangor looked at his arm. The wound was very red. When he looked at it, he recalled how close he had come to dying out there. If it weren't for his friend and this elf, he'd be inside a goblin stomach right now. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He knew what he wanted to do, and knew he would succeed.
He picked up his weapons, and began to move to the door.
"You want company?" Glodsson asked of him.
Rangor looked back at the two of them. With their help, the three of them would easily overcome the goblin. But then nothing would be gained. His pride would still be hurt, and he would have no way to mend it.
"No. I would rather do this on my own." He turned to leave, but a delicate hand touched his shoulder.
"Then at least let me help you in the best way I can." With that, Weeno began to chant again.
With his mind back in the present again, Rangor looked at the goblin. True enough, his rage was driving him toward victory, but the second thing driving him was the spells that the elf had cast on him before he left. They made him more resilient in the battle.
He could see the goblin was scared now. It had defeated him before, and had fully expected a repeat performance. It wasn't going according to plan. The dwarf was hardly hurt at all.
The goblin turned and ran. The fight was as good as over. In a few strides, the goblin fell over, the life in it's body faded.
Without pride, Rangor knelt over the corpse and searched its pockets. A few silver and a bottle of alcohol. He downed the drink and stood up.
He looked around himself. There were bats flying around, snakes slithering through the grass. Small scarabs were crawling around and a skeleton on the verge of decay was minding it's own business.
He looked back at the ex-goblin. He felt no pride over his victory. He had expected to feel joy that he had overcame his defeat, but he felt empty instead.
Rangor knew he had a thing against goblins, but this wasn't the one he wanted dead. It was a mere whelp. The goblin he held a grudge against was still out there, far away from Kaladim. He swore that one day, he would have revenge for what it had taken from him.