Rangor took a moment to catch his breath. He'd backed up a few steps, which
gave him a few seconds to himself. He rubbed an oval shaped scar on his left
arm.
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 in 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 thank you. 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.
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