3rd Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
The hobgoblin's skin was a dull orange in color.
Its flat nose was a light blue, almost silver.
Its teeth, including the two stubs of tusks protruding from its lower jaw, were yellow.
Its short, neatly trimmed beard was a dark auburn, as were the wisps of hair that were evident all over its exposed skin.
Its eyes were a deep brown.
The blood that spouted out of the stab wound in its chest was bright red.
Elrohir smiled savagely.
That's the color I was looking for, he thought.
The humanoid dropped but another hobgoblin, identical to the ranger's eyes, stepped right over his compatriot's body and attacked. A snarl and a guttural shout was its only reaction, and Elrohir couldn't tell if it was angry at its companion's death or just hated humans in general.
Not that he cared.
The hobgoblin tried to feint past the ranger's shield with its longsword. Elrohir didn't even try to get the steel circle in his left hand in position in time. He parried the creature's strike with Gokasillion instead and smashed his shield into the hobgoblin's face. Only the humanoid's partial turning of its head at the last moment turned a lethally distracting move into a merely hurtful one. The hobbie was able, if only just, to avoid Gokasillion as the intelligent sword moved quickly from parry position to attack.
Elrohir settled into his routine. Unlike Nesco, he had fought scores of these creatures in the past. He had fought them on Aarde, and he had fought them before here on Oerth. He had not encountered any during his brief stay on Rolex, but he was pretty sure that hobgoblins were the same no matter where you encountered them.
He found them oddly reassuring in battle. He could unconsciously read their eyes and knew from where their next attack would be coming from. He could decipher their body language in the same manner and know what they thought he was going to do. He would usually string his opponent along with this for a little while, just enough to give them a false sense of confidence.
And then he would kill them.
Elrohir shifted his feet a few inches, being careful to avoid stumbling over the hobgoblin corpse already lying at his feet. He could see another hobbie standing directly behind the one he was battling now, brandishing his sword threateningly but uselessly. Every now and then, it would shout something that Elrohir took to be encouragement to its brethren involved in battle. Or perhaps it was a threat to hurry up or risk a stab in the back.
Again, Elrohir didn't care.
He himself had suffered little more than a couple of scratches. All things considered, he considered their present position acceptable, although he was well aware many of his party would not agree. The confines of corridor fighting suited the ranger's style of fighting, so Elrohir was in no hurry to try and push his party into any of the seemingly innumerable doors that lined this corridor.
It was while traversing this winding corridor ever-deeper into the bowels of the fort that doors had suddenly opened ahead and behind of them, and seven hobgoblins had spilled into the corridor and attacked, for all the good it had done them.
"Could we find a wider corridor, please?" came the voice of Harve behind him. "It's very frustrating you know, to be so close to someone's defenseless back, and not being able to do anything about it!"
Elrohir frowned. Argo was right behind him, so they couldn't be any-
The ranger's eyes went wide.
"Argo!" he shouted. "Watch that damn sword of yours! I don't need you losing control of him right now!"
"Sorry, Elrohir," came the voice of his friend and fellow ranger, dripping with that sly Bigfellow humor. "I just drew my sword, and I can't do a thing with it."
The party leader groaned and risked a momentary glance over to his right. Aslan's light blue eyes met his momentarily, but the paladin could spare no more than a sympathetic grimace. He had killed one hobbie but was having trouble with this one. Aslan had sustained no injuries yet but his adversary, despite having taken what looked like two major wounds, just would not go down. Aslan looked again for any sign that this particular hobgoblin might be one of their leaders, but there was nothing that differentiated it from any of its fellows. It wore the same workman-like but well-kept studded leather armor and carried the same type of sword as all the others.
Guess it's just me.
His jaw set, the paladin threw aside tempting thoughts of polymorphing. He waited until the hobgoblin's next sword strike. When it came, he parried it off to his left with his shield, then stepped forward and stabbed forward with his own sword- a straight, high strike aimed at the creature's head. As he hoped, the creature merely moved its head to its right. Aslan then turned his sword and swung right, slamming the hobgoblin's noggin with the flat of the blade. The humanoid's opposite cheek slammed into the corridor wall, stunning it just long enough for Aslan to draw the blade across its neck. With a spurt of blood and a gurgle, the hobgoblin crumpled. The one in back of it kept its eyes on Aslan until it was sure that it could move forward without being tripped up by its companion, who was still twitching on the floor. Soon, Aslan was once again trading sword blows.
Aslan wasn't really worried about himself or Elrohir. Not yet anyway. However, he had no idea how the rear was doing, and could only hope someone would warn him if his healing were needed before it was too late.
Nesco grunted with exertion. She had locked swords with her current hobgoblin opponent, both blades scraping down each other until they locked at the hilts. They were both pressing forward now, their faces perhaps a foot or so apart. Lady Cynewine stared into the creature's yellow eyes and wondered if her breath smelled as bad to him as his did to hers.
The hobgoblin snarled at the ranger and spat out something at her. Since he clearly wasn't expecting her to understand, Nesco figured it was a curse, a threat, or a boast.
She tried a shield bash, but her opponent apparently had the same idea. A loud clang came from the two metal disks crashing together like gongs. Now they too were pressing together.
This is ridiculous, thought Nesco. Something needs to change here.
The ranger looked again into the bestial face of her attacker, and then an idea came to her.
She smiled at him, and dropped her sword letting her arm swing down and inside to the right, following his pressure.
The hobgoblin smiled back, crooked yellow teeth filling its mouth. It backed off just enough to get its sword into prime position. The human woman was now apparently going for a two-handed shield bash to the creature's midsection, but the hobbie wasn't concerned. In fact, it barely noticed. The human's blow would strike first, but there was no way it would hurt hard enough to disrupt its own sword, which was already swinging around in an arc in line to take off the female's head.
At the last moment, the human's shield, which in fact was still held only in her left hand, veered off to the left.
The right hand, holding a dagger, plunged through the hobgoblin's armor and into its stomach.
The creature gasped, it's own swing disrupted by only an inch- just enough to catch on the chainmail armor at the base of the creature's neck. It sliced, but the wound was minor- unlike his own. Without thinking, the hobgoblin dropped his own shield, yanked the dagger out and looked up, just in time for the female's fist to slam into his nose.
By the time the humanoid got its wind back, the first thing it saw was also the last- the female's sword, coming right at its own neck.
Nesco knew Tojo had seen her drop her opponent, but he gave no response. None was needed, really.
Showing as much emotion as he might sitting down to a meal, Yanigasawa Tojo calmly battled his second opponent. His first lay already dead at his feet.
Tojo's katana never ceased moving. The samurai's shoulders rolled up and down as he maneuvered his sword in a two-handed grip through a never-ending cycle of slashes, thrusts, feints and parries. The hobgoblin's sword arm flew off at the shoulder. It screamed in agony- but only for a moment.
With a smooth movement that Nesco envied, Tojo slid his katana back into its sheath with the same speed with which he had just struck down his attacker. The samurai stared hard down the corridor, into the darkness beyond Zantac's light. Nesco understood. The hobgoblins that they had left banging on the door to the courtyard should be upon them by now.
There was no sound of charging soldiers, though.
Nesco shot a quick glance back to the front line. Aslan had just dropped his last adversary, leaving Elrohir battling the last hobbie.
"Harve!" Elrohir suddenly yelled out. "Here's something to shut you up! Heads up, Argo!"
The party leader waited for just the right moment, than suddenly squatted down, dropped both his sword and shield, grabbed the hobgoblin's waist and with a mighty heave, threw the creature up and over his back.
The humanoid's cry of surprise did not last long.
"You act like children," Talass muttered, trying vainly to wipe an assortment of blood and brain fluids off of her with a cloth that seemed about ready to dissolve from the effort. "This splatter is disgusting, and I wasn't even involved!"
Argo appeared nonchalant. "Just keeping in practice, my good lady," he offered. "What with this formation and the layout of this corridor, you and I may not get to see much action."
"We came here for a purpose, Argo Bigfellow Junior," Talass retorted, "and I for one do not remember hearing the word action passing King Belvor's lips."
"You've got to learn to read between the lines." Argo tried on a sage look while nodding. "I daresay only our unique brand of diplomacy will get this job done."
"Let's go, people." Elrohir began to move, hoping to cut this off before it became a protracted argument. Aslan, starting to move beside him, turned around again to the rear.
"Nesco! Tojo! Do either of you need healing?"
Both warriors shook their heads, returning their attention to the rear as the twin columns began ponderously to move again.
As they walked, Elrohir leaned over to whisper to Aslan. "Nesco and Tojo seem to have patched up their differences. That's good."
The paladin nodded, but his thoughts ran incessantly through his head.
Nesco was lucky. We're all lucky. I've been a fool to hide my head in the sand from this. Even Elrohir and Cygnus don't realize how fragile Tojo can be- they don't know the underlying truth. When this is over, Aslan decided with a resolve that gave him some peace of mind, we'll get this all out into the open.
The corridor had ended in a door, thirty feet past the latest turn. Elrohir waited until they were all assembled outside. He listened but could hear nothing beyond.
The ranger turned to his spellcasters. "Shine up if you want to. I can't hear anything, but something tells me this room is occupied."
Zantac and Talass incanted, but there was no visible effect, and the cleric showed no inclination to explain to her husband. She simply nodded at him.
Elrohir slowly put his shoulder against the door, braced himself, and pushed.
The door swung open, slowly but steadily.
Elrohir blinked. This hadn't been what he was expecting.
The room was laid out something like a theater or an arena. It was long; a good seventy to eighty feet by his estimate, but no more than thirty feet wide. It sported terraces, raised stone platforms set in a series of three steps set on either side of the room. A curved ramp of sorts, about ten feet wide, led from the door they had entered from, down through the middle of the room, and up again to a door on the far side. Two continual flames situated on the ceiling gave the entire room a complete, if shadowy illumination.
The room was indeed occupied.
At least three dozen people, almost all humans, were sitting on these steps. All bore neck chains that snaked back to iron rings set into the walls, but they were not struggling in the slightest.
In fact, they were not moving at all.
The party slowly moved into the room and fanned out, putting their weapons away as they inspected the prisoners.
Most were nearly naked, clad in little more than rags or strips of cloth. Scraps of torn clothing and numerous shoes were strewn about the room.
Nesco gulped. The same sense of unease she had felt in back on the second floor of the curtain wall had returned. This time though, there was no doubt that most of the party was feeling it, too. They were all looking around constantly. Hands gripped weapons and shields tightly. Breaths came short and nervous. Lady Cynewine scanned the room for any sign of mist, but there was none- only shifting shadows from the twin lights above.
Elrohir leaned down to stare into the eyes of a middle-aged man. They stared blankly ahead and did not follow any of the ranger's movements. Likewise, he showed no response to either Elrohir's voice or being shaken by the shoulders. He kept trying. For some reason that he couldn't put into words, Elrohir felt that he just had to get through, to make some kind of contact with these slaves.
He wanted something that would reassure him this wasn't permanent.
Argo, currently on the highest level, frowned as he examined a teenaged boy who sat with his back to the chamber wall. Like the other prisoners, he seemed in fair physical health, if perhaps a bit thin. The ranger noticed a brown stain around the boy's lips that seemed to be quite common among these prisoners. He glanced down to the center of the room. A bucket and ladle sat there. A few quick jumps brought Bigfellow over, where he squatted down and examined them. They held a thin coating of some kind of bean stew. Another empty bucket and ladle sat nearby. A few ants were crawling in the bottom, where perhaps a teaspoon of dirty water remained.
Argo stood up and tried to concentrate on all this, to sort it out into something recognizable, but he couldn't. That feeling of uneasiness in his head was getting worse. He could feel his palms getting sweaty.
Talass was near tears as she bent down to examine a young female gnome. She looked so much like a child that it broke her heart.
The gnome sat up straight, her hands primly in her lap, her bright blue eyes showing no concern at all about her wretched situation. Her thin legs dangled off the stone step. Her blouse and corset, ripped nearly to shreds, lay on the floor beside her. Talass looked around. For some reason, it was very important to her that she find something to cover this poor creature's nakedness with, but she couldn't find anything. She picked up the blouse and put it over the gnome's shoulders. It had once been a beautiful azure garment, filled with intricate designs, but now it just looked tattered and filthy. The cleric could see grimy fingerprints all over it.
Talass shut her eyes. She just didn't want to see this. She didn't want to see any more of it.
Cygnus stared down at another of the prisoners. Like the other males, he seemed to have at least two weeks growth of beard, and Cygnus was guessing they'd been here for at least that long. But why?
The wizard frowned. He was trying to think of possible explanations for their condition. He had one theory, but it was hard to zero in on it. It was almost as if a soft buzzing, felt more than heard, was making it harder and harder to think.
Somehow, a thought made it through the haze.
Cygnus cast detect magic on the young man at his feet.
It was there. An enchantment effect. Cygnus gazed off at the wall. Suddenly he remembered what his theory had been. He'd originally thought this stupor had been achieved through drugs, perhaps something put in the stew the slaves were given. This new discovery put him at a loss. He had nothing memorized to even try and dispel this effect.
The mage tried to think of what to do, but again conscious thought seemed to be leaving him, slowly... slowly...
"Something wrong. There evir here."
Zantac and Aslan were about ten feet away from the west wall. They had been about to start examining an assortment of cloaks, blankets and jackets that were hung up on pegs there, but instead turned around at this pronouncement.
Tojo was moving along the second terrace, slowly and deliberately making his way towards them. The samurai was not looking at any of the slaves. His face held a look of fierce concentration, as if he was trying to keep his mind on something.
Or more accurately, off of something.
Aslan stared in disbelief as Tojo's eyes met his briefly. The samurai looked as close to scared as he could ever recall.
That wasn't good.
"We should do something," Aslan mumbled, turning away from the wall. while he himself did not feel scared, something was clouding his head, making it hard to be decisive. The paladin frowned, wondering how this might be affecting their party leader. Perhaps he should speak to Elrohir about all of them leaving this room soon...
Zantac wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It seemed awfully hot in here. It was hard to think, but it occurred to the magic-user that perhaps there was some sort of spellcraft at work here. He had no detect magic cantrip memorized, but he was reasonably sure that Cygnus did, or perhaps Talass.
His fellow wizard was closer, standing about ten feet away with his back to Zantac.
"Cygnus!" he called out.
There was no response.
"Cygnus!"
Zantac saw the three rangers slowly look over at him, but no alarm showed in any of their faces; just fatigue.
Pushing his way forward, Zantac walked over to Cygnus. He put his hand up on the younger mage's shoulder and spun him around. "Hey! Stick! Have you gone-"
Fear cut off Zantac's voice as surely as if a knife had been applied to his vocal cords.
Cygnus' face had gone blank. He stared unseeing, at nothing.
Zantac looked back over at Aslan, who, unlike most of the others, still maintained a look of concern on his face.
Zantac was about to yell out to him, but again a terrible sight left him speechless.
Behind Aslan, on the wall, one of the cloaks was starting to move.
The dark blue folds of its fabric fluttered in a breeze that wasn't there. Then it slipped off the wall, spreading out, both sides slowly flapping like great wings. Zantac saw a bony, whip-like tail unfurl from the center and lash about in the air. Two wrinkles in the cloak's underside suddenly opened to become glaring red eyes.
The horrible unnerving effect Zantac had been feeling disappeared, but genuine terror remained.
The mage saw Aslan's eyes suddenly snap wide open.
The paladin whirled around, but the cloak was on him as a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth opened.