Scenario 6 Choice 3_Decide Your Fate Games - R.Malak

Scenario 6 Choice 3

Choice 3. Help protect the villagers first?

Not really sure what he could do to protect so many in the chaos...

(Rile the goblins up.)

Gregor pulled back into the open side street, before darting up behind one of the round domed homes, and searched for a lone goblin. The tall wiry greenskin he saw in the street ahead of him, huddled over a dead orc in brown work clothes, and armed with throwing spears and leather hide buckler, when Gregor charged from behind, his longsword driven deep into its spine. It's death quick and sudden.

No time to revel in the kill, he licked the warm blood from his lips, and hacked off its ears. Gregor who had only ever tried this once in his life, hauled the dead goblin up onto his shoulder, rushed back out into the middle of the King's Road where the goblins had regrouped, and tossed the corpse in front of them along with its ears, and spat on them. One of the gravest insults not only to the dead goblin but to their ancestors as well.

The reaction as he had expected, a howl of primal fury that seemed to hang in the air as goblins flew towards him with blazing yellow eyes, and blood maddened cries, when fireballs screamed down into them, blasting them apart. The legionaries who poured forward on either side, a methodical nightmare of thrusting swords, and shields that smashed goblin skulls, and plated boots that cracked through marrow and bone.

Gregor who stood at the head of the storm, a whirlwind of death as more fireballs exploded around him, until there was nothing left. The wounded villagers that were strewn about, attended to by soldiers in blood-spattered armor, when the officer that had arrested Gregor, strode over to his side.

Hard of face and eyes, he looked around at the bloody massacre, and shook his head in disbelief. "You truly are mad?"

Expression as cold as ice, Gregor smiled a dangerous smile, felt the warm hot rage inside, and quickly strode away to the Golden Goose, the shattered doors already open.

Heart thumped to a halt as he stepped inside, he felt his knees buckle at the sight of corpses flung all about the room, and at the far back, a bleeding and terrified Lytan.

The boy, trembling with shortsword in hand, stood at the far corner of the room with Myrissa lying there on the inn's floor, and Sara right beside her.

Eyes squeezed shut, he wanted to scream not again, when he heard footsteps from behind, turned to see Khorasan, and pleaded, "help them!"

The elven mage who seemed as startled by the display of emotion and bloodsoaked floorboards, hurried away across the room to kneel at their sides, when the boy collapsed into his arms. Lytan who had only moments ago, stood tall over a dead goblin, grew pale as a sheet as blood seeped out from a wound in his neck. The power that shone in Khorasan's hands, a white glow of heat that flowed over their bodies, when the mage finally stood up.

Face somber, and eyes weary with exhaustion, he said, "they will live. The Lightbearer knows how they survived this attack, but they will live."

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Head turned to look back at him, the elf asked, "I must ask you, Gregor, have you made a decision?"

Gaze never leaving their small crumpled up bodies, he nodded, and scrubbed a hand across his chin. "I have."

"Well?!"

Releasing a heavy sigh, he looked up. "I offer you my sword, until they are safe."

Brown eyes lifted upward in surprise, Khorasan rubbed the blood from his hands. "You know that could be a while yet?"

"I know." And for what seemed like an eternity, Gregor waited for them to wake.

-4 HP.

+2 Morale.

Move onto the next Scenario.

(Kill.)

He danced about cutting down goblins by the score, pushed idiots too frozen by fear to move, and did his best to protect them. But even a blind goat could see that was not enough with more goblins flowing from every direction, hunting down people. The couple dozen legionaries that collected together on the other side of the street, forced to give ground as Gregor fought alone, longsword hacking a bloody path of death, when fireballs screamed down into them, blasting them apart.

The legionaries who poured forward on either side, a methodical nightmare of thrusting swords, and shields that smashed goblin skulls, and plated boots that cracked through marrow and bone.

Hard of face and eyes, he looked around at the bloody massacre, and shook his head in disbelief. "Anyone ever tell you, that you fight like a demon?"