Scarblack, the goblin, scowled. He was used to fighting from the back of one of the orcish brutes the goblins bred for combat into battle and affectionately referred to as donkeys. to have his long clawed feet touching the ground made him uneasy. Garblack had been sure to make sure Scarblack and his boys were assigned to the lowest of the tunnels. He knew it was an insult. He had felt it at the time when it was brought up during the war council, but it did not matter to him. He’d much rather be striking lower down, where the dwarvish defences would be sure to be weaker. Scarblack had led a group of fifty goblins through the tunnel.
They had burst forth, exspecting to find dwarven warriors, only to find whatever these creatures were. Scarblack didn't mind the lack of dwarves; indeed, it had turned out to be one of the best days for killing him and his boys he had ever had. Even without the donkeys, they massacred their way through hundreds of creatures. After an hour of brutal warfare, the goblins had slowed down to a halt. After searching for survivors, they found their way to the Great Hall. After making short work of the sheltering gnomes they had found inside the unit, they decided to go bickering. After an hour or so of hearing various theories on what the creatures actually were, Scarblack finally snapped and sent a unit to check if the route to the tunnel was still clear. It had been an hour, and they had yet to return.
Scarblack looked out at his remaining troops. He counted them one by one, taking a mental stock of his remaining troops as they sat around idlely waiting for his orders. A long goblin scream echoed down the tunnel towards the group of goblins. Scarblack snatched up his sword. As he did, the rest of his goblins quickly did the same, bringing a vast array of goblin weaponry to bear. “Right boys, settle it,” yelled Scarblack to his troops. All thirty-four sets of goblin eyes turned to him as if eager to have an ongoing debate settled. “These must be dwarves." Half his troops let out a cheer; the other half, seemingly defeated, let out dejected growls and yaps. "Now, Battle Station Boys!” yelled Scarblack. “Sounds like they are trying to flank us." Scarblack narrowed his eyes and tried to see into the dark tunnel as his troops moved into smaller groups of well-practiced formations.
Scarblack pulled a Goblish helmet over his head. He’d show Garblack and the other chief who was strongest. He was going to kill a dwarf.
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LEVEL UP! Strength Level Two Achieved!
NEW SKILL: Parry
YOU ARE NOW LEVEL SIX.
Snorri blinked in disbelief. It was official then; Arracop truly had not been lying when he promised Snorri would grow stronger, and now at level six, Snorri was already more powerful than any other gnome within the mountain, living or dead. "Yesss, yess, you are growing stronger now,” came Arracop’s voice. Snorri tensed. It was suddenly quiet within the tunnel; the faraway rabble of goblin voices had stopped echoing down the tunnel. Snorri quickly rounded the last bend in the corridor, and finally the end was insight. Snorri squinted to try and see through the faraway entrance to the great hall. As he squinted, he heard a voice echo around the great hall. “SCOUTS FORWARD!” screamed a loud goblish voice. “Flush them out." A pounding of footsteps flooded forward into the tunnel-like corridor, and seven goblins pounded towards Snorri through the darkness, each armed with a long, pointy spear and a nasty, crudley-forged knife and dropping low to the ground in a somewhat ape-like charge.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The first goblin to reach Snorri stabbed forward with his spear, siming for Snorri’s abdomen. Snorri snapped Arracog's blade forward, catching the spear's tip, and throughing the goblin off balance for a split second. Snorri struck quickly, running the goblin through with Arracop’s blade and sending him rolling away as the second of the goblin scouts let out a snarl and lept towards him. The attack, although brave, had been stupid. The leaping goblin had raised both hands into the air in order to stab Snorri with all its strength, but in doing so, it had left its belly wide open. Snorri threw a high blade into the goblin’s soft belly. It struck the floor with a grunt that turned into a scream as Snorri wrenched the blade free.
Three more goblin spears stabbed Snorri wildly. The little gnome’s sword snicker snacked through the air, deflecting one after another until all three spearmen struggled to maintain the balance. as the goblin’s let out disgruntled shouts, Snorri dove into the air. Swing for the closest goblin's neck. The goblin saw it coming and was able to roll away, dropping his spear to do so. The second goblin wasn't so lucky. Arracop’s blade sliced the goblin's neck, sending neon green blood spraying everywhere. Snorri pushed the blade yet again, managing to slice the third spearman's face. The goblin dropped to the floor, clasping at its face. “My eyes. My eyes." It began to mutter, grabbing at the place its eyes once were, neon green blood oozing through its fingers.
With an evil grin, Snorri advanced on the three remaining goblin scouts between him and the entrance to the great hall.
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Scarblack and his troops listened as the sound of battle echoed out from the tunnel entrance. The atmosphere in the creation hall grew tense as eventually six of the seven scouts he had sent to draw the dwarves out screamed and then went silent. “Listen up, lads," Scarblack shouted into the large room. He was seemingly down to his last two squads. A group of fourteen archers and fifteen warriors prepared for the coming onslaught. “AS SOON AS ANYTHING COMES OUT OF THE TUNNEL, SHOOT IT.” Scarblack shouted to his boys as a seventh round of goblin screams echoed back into the room.
Slowly, a petrified-looking goblin scout came running back into the room. "LOOSE!” yelled Scarblack. His fourteen archers sent fourteen evil-looking arrows shooting towards the scout. Five of them hit their mark. The goblin scout screamed in pain. His eyes focused on Scarblack, and with the last of his life force, he managed to force out the words:
“Ain't no drawf, boss.”