A shadow filled the doorway.

“I say flesh bag will burn…so it will burn.”

With that, the big goblin hurled a jar at the stairs. Too late Dakota realized what it was.

“whUMPH.”

The explosion sent Dakota crashing backwards into the hayloft. Rolling, he frantically patted his face, trying to put out his smouldering stubble. Dakota thought he could hear the big goblin laughing.

The flames encompassed the entire staircase, the heat rapidly increasing as it consumed the dry timbers. There was no way he was getting through that.

Dakota tried kicking a hole through the siding but the only thing he accomplished was bruising his foot. Gazing up, he saw one small window at the peak of the roof, twenty feet above him. He tried climbing the studs but they were spaced too far apart.

A small bundle on the floor caught his eye. The rope! He had forgotten about it. But he needed to climb up and the rope was down here.

The flames roared behind him. The dry wood and dust feeding into the quickly expanding inferno. It had already claimed a third of the loft floor and the ceiling wasn’t far behind.

Holding his hoe like a spear, Dakota threw it at the window and watched it smash through the pane. Grabbing the rope, he twisted it around a chunk of wood and then hurled it at the window.

*thunk…..thunk

The piece of wood, with rope attached, crashed off the side of the window and landed back on the floor. Back beginning to scorch, Dakota hurled the wood again and watched in relief as it sailed through the window.

Wrenching down on the rope, he felt the impromptu grapple catch the outside of the window. Two feet on the wall, Dakota climbed as the fire filled the space he had been standing. He could feel his back blistering as he laboured for the window, his right-hand spasming with pain every pull.

Smoke filled the air the higher he got, causing him to cough and nearly lose his grip.

“Almost there.”

Vision blurry, hand in agony, and back scorched, Dakota mustered every reserve of energy he had and heaved, pulling himself the last few feet to the window ledge. The fire licked his legs as he squeezed through the opening, heedless of the glass shards.

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With one hand holding him in place, Dakota used the other to gather up the smouldering rope and toss it outside, lodging the wood piece on the inside of the window. He climbed inverted, head towards the ground until his legs cleared the opening allowing him to swing right way up.

Pants burning, Dakota managed a controlled descent halfway down the barn when his right hand finally gave out. He crashed into the ground, knees buckling into his face with an explosion of pain and bright spots. All he wanted to do was lay there but his sizzling legs drove him into a lurching run. The well. He needed water.

As the pain reached a crescendo, a bloody scream tore from his throat.

The goblin chief was not having a good day. Make that a week, two weeks, ever since the flesh bag had shown up and started interfering with his claiming. The hairless pig thought it wasn’t stealing anything as it was trying to steal his island. The idea made him furious, a red haze filling his vision. He had thought about what to do for a long while, this whole last week, until coming up with the idea of trapping it. Almost like the flesh bag liked to trap fish by the stream. It had been going so well, especially when it had begun thrashing and crying in the net. At that moment, the goblin chief knew he was worthy of the claiming. The island would certainly recognize his enormous intellect.

Then the flesh bag had stomped on his weapon. The goblin chief scrunchled, still wincing, the blow to his face added to the humiliation and he had panicked for a moment as it ran away. Thankfully it had fled into the big woodhouse and, by another stroke of brilliance, the idea of burning the house down on top of it had occurred to the chief. The flesh bag would pay, no one interfered with big goblin chief.

Something smashed through the window at the peak of the roof. The goblin chief’s eyes tracked the object. It was just the flesh bag’s weapon. Wiping a bead of sweat away, the chief exhaled. A moment later, something else came through the window, except it didn’t fall, instead sticking to the wall.

Screeching, the goblin chief called his tribe, if the flesh bag escaped somehow, he wanted others between him and it. Seconds passed without anything appearing in the opening. The goblin chief relaxed, he could see the fire raging through the window. Nothing could survive…

A hand burst through the opening. Followed by the flesh bag’s body. It paused in the window before throwing a rope down the side of the building. Slack-jawed, the goblin chief watched the burning human slide down the rope before it slipped, crashing into the ground.

The chief chittered, sending the whole group tentatively forward. Was it dead?

The human, flames blazing around it, lurched to its feet, screaming.

The chief dropped a payload as the goblins closest to the fiery monster fled. This wasn’t a human…it was a nightmare. Hiking up his sagging loin cloth, the goblin chief hurried into the woods. One did not fight nightmares.

Hands trembling, Dakota dumped a bucket of water over his head. His teeth clenched as the cool liquid poured over his scorched back and legs. The pain. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It consumed him.

Vision darkening, Dakota put out the last lingering flames clinging to his body. If death came, he would welcome it.

[Frontier Farmer Level 9]

[New Skill - Minor Fire Resistance]

[New Skill - Minor Pain Tolerance]