Their first descent was met with javelins.
Coradiel worked a spear free of the wooden wall, inspecting the weapon. He grunted, snapping the wooden missile in half with a little effort.
“Garbage,” the paladin decided.
“Lethal garbage,” Arlo pointed out, fishing through his bag. Thankfully none of the goblins dared to charge up the stairs for fear of his musket. A musket that was far too long to use in this cramped space. “Here.”
He pulled out a tiny mirror, holding it around the corner. Flashing it around, he counted only-
“Two goblins,” Arlo said, yanking his arm back before a javelin could pin it to the wall. “There are two doorways; the one on the right probably leads to the horde guarding the front gate. They’ll be here any second now.”
Glancing at the latest javelin quivering in the wall, Arlo chewed his lip. A simple cantrip sprang to mind — if this worked, it would be a miracle, but it might just give them the edge they needed.
He cleared his throat. Working the javelin free, Arlo tossed it down the steps, where it clattered to the ground.
“I am the great Arlo Silverpaw,” he bellowed in gravelly Goblin. “I am he who controls the words, he who makes them do his bidding. Leave this place, or be doomed to lose your minds to the words I write.”
Thrusting his hand forward, the mage uttered, “[Mage Hand].”
The javelin rose into the air, lethal point aiming in the direction of the goblins. Loud squeaks filled the room, followed by the sound of slamming doors.
“Go!” Grabbing his musket, Arlo charged down the stairs. He swept his weapon around the empty room, knocking over an empty bucket with the barrel. The thud startled him, and Arlo just barely stopped himself from firing.
Panting, the mage turned toward one of the doors. Behind him, Coradiel and Shalelu filed more sedately into the room.
“Gee, thanks for the back up,” Arlo muttered.
“You gave us not even a second to react!” Coradiel protested. “What did you even expect from all that goblin speak?”
“He told them he’s a wizard who controls written words,” Shalelu said, studying the doors. “Goblins are terrified of books; they think writing words down will steal them from their mind.”
“How defensible is this place?” Arlo asked. “I want to head north, but that would leave a force at our backs that could strike at any moment. Can we thin them out from here?”
Shalelu frowned, glancing at the few crates in the room.
“It’s unlikely,” she decided. “We don’t have any cover. We’d be sitting ducks to their crossbows.”
“Then we move on, with a rear guard,” Coradiel said.
“Thank you for volunteering to lead the charge,” Arlo grumbled. “Shalelu can take the rear; you’ll notice more than I would.” His [Perception] was only a +8, and that was after putting points in it at every level. Surely a ranger’s would be better.
“Or.” Shalelu slammed a heel into a crate, shattering it. She pried a few slats off, and set them into the door handles, effectively barring the passage. “We can stop thinking with our dicks and use our brains instead. Come on.”
Setting hand to the northern door, Shalelu leapt back at a sudden bang. The door shook, and slavering barks broke through the wooden barrier.
“Aw. Do we have to kill them?” Arlo demanded.
“Rabid goblin dogs?” Shalelu rolled her eyes. “You want to cuddle them, be my guest.”
Sighing, Arlo cast one more [Abundant Ammunition] spell. He checked his load, before levelling his musket. Coradiel took up position beside the door, and Shalelu stepped beside Arlo, an arrow on her bowstring.
“Okay Coradiel, open up.”
The paladin shoved the door open, and a massive ratlike creature leapt at him.
CRACK!
The mangy canine dropped, blood pooling rapidly from a massive hole in its side. Reloading frantically as three more mutts appeared, Arlo levelled his musket again.
But Coradiel was now in the way. The paladin dodged bite after claw. His blade came down, cutting into the beasts assailing him.
Arlo couldn’t get a clear shot. Shalelu couldn’t get a clear shot. And worse, the makeshift barricade was starting to rattle to their right, as goblins grew wise to the fight.
And then more goblins appeared.
Coming in at the tail end of the goblin-dogs, the beasts flung javelins at Coradiel.
“Coradiel! MOVE!”
The paladin danced aside, and Arlo squeezed his trigger.
CRACK!
A goblin dropped with a guttural cry. Arlo had no time to admire his handiwork — Shalelu’s shot missed her target, leaving only Coradiel between the ranged combatants and a gruesome end at the maws of rabid mutts.
Ramming another bullet into his musket, Arlo began retreating up the stairway. Three steps up gave him just enough elevation, and another shot cracked into a goblin-dog’s hide, dropping the beast. Three down, one to go, and four goblins to top it all off.
Somehow, Coradiel was still on his feet. Bleeding, badly, but still alive, still fighting. Arlo took heart in that, even as he reached for magic. There was one way out of this mess.
His musket levelled.
“[Burning Arc].”
Fire shot from his barrel. Arcing past Coradiel, the flame passed through the goblin-dog, then between two of the goblins, before fizzling out. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, but the flame had done its job — there were now three blackened corpses on the ground and two terrified goblins beyond.
A wave of fatigue washed over Arlo. He slumped to the ground, panting heavily. Bleary eyes watched Coradiel and Shalelu make short work of the two remaining goblins.
“Arlo!”
A hand slapped his cheek. Repeatedly.
“Ow! I’m okay! I’m okay!” The catfolk grumbled, hoisting himself wearily to his feet. “Don’t suppose we can take a nap here?”
“Spirit of Abandon, banish this fatigue!”
Like a jolt of coffee shot into his veins, Arlo’s eyes flew open, his body shuddered, and he let out a sudden whoop. The waves of fatigue vanished, and Arlo grabbed his musket.
“Alright, who are we killing next?!”
Doors. Doors everywhere. One rattled with inhuman force. One led to a — diminished — army of goblins. The other two sprawled around the open courtyard were a complete mystery. Patches of grass grew randomly through packed dirt. Dried blood covered the earth, with gouges in the ground from some unknown force. A pair of dead goblins — goblins they hadn’t killed — lay against the eastern wall.
“This place looks like a murderer’s playpen,” Coradiel muttered.
“Ooh, was it the goblin in the courtyard with the cleaver?”
The paladin stared at Arlo, then shook his head slowly.
“I’ve just about given up trying to figure you out,” he grumbled.
“That’s probably for the best,” Arlo agreed, crossing the courtyard to examine the corpses.
Their heads had been caved in by blunt force. Arlo gagged at the sight of actual brains — his own brain rebelled at how easily it could be exposed. Black blood was caked around the corpses, with hoofprints scattered all around.
“Horse,” he grimaced, hurrying away from the bodies. “That’s our mysterious thumper.” He pointed toward the rattling door.
It was boarded shut, with nails poking haphazardly out of the various woods. How the goblins had managed that feat was beyond Arlo; the horse inside seemed beyond mad.
Murderous, even.
“Shalelu, you’re good with animals, right?” Arlo asked.
“Am I good at calming a horse who’s likely been beaten and starved to an inch of their life? Not particularly,” the ranger replied, fingering an arrow.
“So you’re going to SHOOT IT?!”
“With a sleep arrow.” Shalelu pulled a blunt arrow from her quiver. “That’d knock it out for a couple of minutes. Then… I don’t know, maybe we can unleash it against the goblins barring our way out. They’re waiting for something, and I don’t like it.”
“Well, don’t beat the crap out of the horse yet,” Arlo said sharply.
He jogged over to the double doors. Pressing his ear against the rotting wood, the catfolk focused on the garbled goblin words being spoken beyond.
“Five and five and two. Four and four and four that way at dark. Wait for reinforcements. Master Bruthazmus will deliver.”
Backing away from the door, Arlo strode toward the other two.
“We need to bar that door,” he said, pointing north. “Bruthazmus is supposed to send reinforcements. Then, four goblins will attack from the storage room, while eight others push through the double doors. Shalelu, you guard the storage room. Coradiel will contain the goblins at the double doors, and I’ll support both of you wherever I can.”
“Do you know how long?” Shalelu demanded.
“We have until sundown. Hopefully my energy will be restored by then,” Arlo said.
His mana did not return. It seemed he only ever restored it once per day, when he slept. But, he did remember an arcanist exploit he had — Arlo could copy the flaming bullet trick without expending mana; he just had to use his arcane reservoir instead. That gave him an extra eight points per day, at least.
While they waited, Shalelu tried her hand at soothing the horse crammed in the outhouse. Coradiel worked at the board, prying them out, while the frantic kicking and screaming neighs slowly settled.
Nearly three hours later, the two had the door open, and an emaciated warhorse was ravenously scarfing hay Shalelu had procured from somewhere. She didn’t let it eat its fill though; something about the horse inhaling its food. Arlo didn’t see how starving the beast further was going to keep him from doing that, but he wasn’t going to argue with the ranger.
Then a door rattled.
Arlo was on his feet in an instant, loaded musket levelled.
“[Abundant Ammunition]. [Arcane Exploit: Arcane Weapon: Flaming].”
No wave of exhaustion struck this time, and the catfolk breathed a sigh of relief, even as an axe appeared through the door.
He’d been wrong. The reinforcements weren’t coming through the front entrance of the fort; they’d been here all along. Arlo now had his own battle to face, even as Coradiel and Shalelu took up position beside their defences.
An arrow thwipped past Arlo, and a goblin cried out. But the axe still came.
“Bruthazmus,” Shalelu warned.
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“Probably fully healed through potions,” Arlo agreed.
He lined up a shot, and squeezed the trigger.
And the axe hung in the door for a moment, no longer powered by a crazed bugbear.
But it returned to its crashing and cutting, until suddenly, the door flew open. Two goblins stalked out of the hallway, one of whom was instantly cut down by a bullet to the head. Arlo reloaded frantically as the other goblin charged. Before he could recover, the goblin’s cleaver fell.
And opened a gash in his arm.
“Sonofabitch-”
CRACK!
The goblin flew back, blood spraying through the air. And Arlo turned to the real threat.
Bruthazmus.
18 health was already missing from an otherwise full bar — Arlo must have scored a hefty hit. But it still left the bugbear with another 30 HP, and Arlo with barely 20 left after the other goblin’s crit. And Arlo was a lot squishier.
The bugbear didn’t wait for him to reload. Bellowing a victorious cry, Bruthazmus charged. He slammed into the catfolk.
Flying through the air, Arlo crashed down, rolling across the dirt. His HP flashed — he was down to ten points. Another hit like that, and… he didn’t want to think about it.
Scrambling for his musket, the catfolk did the only thing he could think of.
“[Scorching Ray]!”
A ray of intense fire shot from his musket. It slammed into Bruthazmus, and the bugbear’s HP cut in half. Frantically reloading, Arlo levelled his musket as the bugbear charged again.
A sudden scream. The goblin flew sideways. He bellowed as hooves came down and shattered his arm.
Weakly pulling himself away from the crazed horse, Bruthazmus froze as steel met his chest. Arlo flashed a triumphant grin as his finger squeezed.
And in the span of a second, heated lead cut through Bruthazmus’ heart, ripping a hole that would never be closed.
Arlo didn’t stand on his laurels. Spinning toward Coradiel, the catfolk reloaded. Another shot took out a goblin leaping for the paladin. Coradiel seemed to have things well in hand — three other goblins were already dead, and the remaining four seemed reluctant to move into melee range.
Reloading again, Arlo took out a goblin with a javelin.
“Bruthazmus is dead!” he bellowed in Goblin.
And immediately, the goblins broke. They fled back the way they came, frantically pounding through barred doors, trying to escape the demon that had somehow vanquished their champion.
“Yet Ripnugget remains,” Shalelu said quietly, watching the goblins run. “And that human we saw. Who is he?”
“Can we find out in the morning?” Arlo demanded. “I’m out of spells, I’m injured, I barely have enough ammo to last through this dungeon, and Coradiel looks like he’s on his last legs.”
It was true. The paladin was limping, his health bar less than a quarter full. He’d had the more dangerous task, taking on a superior force. Where Arlo survived by pure luck, Coradiel looked like he’d barely survived at all.
“Out of healing,” he announced, coughing up blood. “Don’t suppose the ranger has any spells she could use.”
“Nothing useful,” Shalelu muttered. “We can’t retreat; this fort will be a maze of traps by the time we return.” She eyed Arlo, almost incredulously. “But you just… you killed Bruthazmus. I’ve been hunting that bastard for years, and you just….”
“Save it. He almost killed me,” Arlo groaned as the adrenaline started to fade. Suddenly he could feel the effects of crashing into the ground, of being sliced open. And it HURT. “Traps or not, we can’t continue like this. It’d kill us for sure.”
“I have some potions in my pack,” Coradiel said. “But without any magic, we’re as good as gone anyway.”
Potions. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought of those? All his money had gone to offensive options; Arlo had completely forgotten defence. Digging through his own pack revealed only a spare spellbook he’d been filling, and extra ink for his quills. Fuck.
“Yeah, I don’t… um… yeah, I agree with Coradiel,” Arlo said, trying not to think too much about how stupid he’d been. Really, who went to a dungeon without healing potions?? Not that he’d ever use them — what if he needed them later?
“Of course you would,” Shalelu muttered. “Fine. Coradiel, you and I will share watches so the prince here can get some sleep.”
“No need for watches,” Arlo denied. Setting his hands on the two, the mage intoned, “[Keep Watch].”
His mana dipped down to dangerous levels. Arlo was not casting any more today. How he was still on his feet was beyond him — his [Will] must be sky high.
But with luck, he wouldn’t need to cast again until morning.
He awoke to a pounding headache.
No, that wasn’t right. His head didn’t hurt. His body did. But there was a pounding beside his head.
“Will whoever’s knocking shut the fuck up?” Arlo groaned, rolling over.
“That would be the goblins,” Coradiel said. “They’ve been trying to break in here for an hour now.”
“And you didn’t wake me up?!”
“We figured we’d have time to wake you when the first axe appeared,” Shalelu said. “Is your magic back yet?”
Arlo glanced upward. His mana bar was refilled, 30 out of 30 points. And his reservoir was full again. He was definitely going to make more use of that.
“Well, what do y’all say to us flanking the goblins?” he asked. “Head back up through the tower, climb the other tower, and use that entrance?”
“Or we can wait-”
“Wait…” Coradiel sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
Arlo took a breath.
“Smoke?” His eyes widened. “We need to get out of this tower!”
The catfolk raced for the stairs. Behind him, he heard Coradiel and Shalelu clambering after him.
Bursting through the door atop the tower, Arlo sucked in relatively fresh air. Looking around, he saw a small troop of goblins hiding from a massive fire they’d set before the tower’s door. Bodies, wood, whatever they could grab, they’d lit aflame. And now the cowards hid from the horse rampaging around the burning courtyard.
“Fuck this shit. [Abundant Ammunition]!”
It was the worst possible way of waking up. But Arlo had little choice in the matter. Loading a bullet, the catfolk levelled his musket.
“They’re retreating,” Shalelu warned, an instant before Arlo’s musket cracked.
A goblin tumbled as its friends scattered. The three remaining goblins raced through the far door, slamming it shut behind them.
“Well… that’s less than ideal.” Arlo sighed, reloading his musket. He had six minutes on his spell before it would be used up. Time was of the essence. “We’re following them, right?”
Shalelu remained silent, scanning the entirety of the compound. She pointed, finger following an imagined path through the building on the far side of the courtyard.
“There. I don’t know how to get there, but I’m almost certain that is where we need to go,” the elf said.
“You think Nualia’s in there?” Coradiel asked. The paladin dumped a collection of cheap javelins on the floor and began shoving them into a pair of sheafs.
“Nualia? No. That’s where Ripnugget should be-”
“Ugh… one track mind.” Arlo grumbled. “Look, Ripnugget is a secondary target. Nualia is our primary concern. Assuming she’s still here. I wouldn’t be, if I were her, but that also assumes she had an escape route planned already. Either way, we need to get off this wall.”
He stepped toward the edge of the wall, peering down at the ground below. Churned earth, burning embers, blood, and bodies all promised a messy fall. Scanning the complex, Arlo groaned — the other tower across from them was wide open.
“Come on.”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Arlo gritted his teeth, flipping furiously through his spare spellbook. They were trapped in a narrow corridor, with the eastern tower at their back, and a barred door before them. And Coradiel was busy giving away their position while Arlo tried to reallocate his spells.
The paladin’s pommel smashed into the heavy door again, not leaving a dent on the wooden barrier. Taking a deep breath, Arlo began scanning the open pages, tracing over glyphs and sigils with a finger.
“Got it!” He announced, stuffing his book back into his bag. “Get back.”
Coradiel scrambled away from the door, and Arlo raised a hand. Fingers pointed separately to the two hinges holding the door up.
“[Knock].”
Twin plinks were followed by a loud thud as the door suddenly fell off its hinges. It toppled backward, landing with a thunderous crash that kicked up years of dust in a billowing cloud.
When the dust settled, all that was left in their path was a wooden slat that had been hammered into the walls. Arlo ducked under it, and stepped into the chamber beyond.
Ripnugget’s throne room was decorated with heavy pelts along the walls — mostly black-and-red firepelts, but Arlo could see canine and horse hides among them. Four pillars supported the room, covered with iron studs. Each stud played host to a decidedly humanoid hand in varying stages of decay, giving the room a nauseating smell. Almost directly north of Arlo, a wooden platform supported a throne of bones, covered haphazardly with heaps of dog and horse hides. Dog skulls adorned the armrests, and over the back, a horse skull leered at the trio as they entered the room.
Beside the throne, a massive gecko watched the intruders. And atop the beast, a goblin sat.
“Not one step further,” Ripnugget snapped.
Arlo froze, fiddling with his musket. Beside him, Shalelu spun an arrow through her fingers. If looks could kill, the ranger would’ve had Ripnugget a smoking ruin already.
“So, you’re the adventurers who kept my followers from victory, twice over. Formidable foes, for certain,” the goblin announced in surprisingly decent Taldane. “You have earned the right to make a deal with me.” His eyes zeroed in on Arlo, a sneer on his lips. “You. You look like you appreciate the value of the spoken word. You may approach so we can make a deal.”
“Not interested. [Arcane Weapon: Flaming]!”
Levelling his gun, Arlo pulled the trigger. A cloud of smoke obscured his vision for the briefest moment before he blew it away with a spell.
Ripnugget picked himself off the floor, staggering as a hole in his side gushed blood.
“Guards! GUARDS!”
Arlo reloaded, sweeping his gun around. A trio of goblins leapt from the pillars supporting the roof, rusty knives clenched in their hands. Beside the throne, a strangled wailing echoed as a warchanter appeared, singing its horrific tunes to spur the goblins on to greater deeds.
“Shalelu, take out the bard! Coradiel, grab the fighters! I’m going after the boss.”
Arlo’s gun fired, and another hole appeared in Ripnugget’s leg. The goblin screeched, only to dive aside as an arrow narrowly missed him.
“The bard!” Arlo roared, reloading again. “The BARD! Aw fuck it.”
He swivelled and lined up a shot. One trigger pull later, and the warchanter dropped, skull caved in. Taking the few seconds to reload, Arlo looked at the carnage around them.
Ripnugget had pulled himself onto his lizard. The beast charged toward Arlo, and the catfolk cursed as he threw himself to the side. Burning pain flashed through his ribs, and the mage groaned, picking himself up.
He turned and followed the fleeing goblin, watching arrow after arrow bounce off roughened skin.
“Shalelu! Help Coradiel!” Arlo bellowed, lining up a shot.
He squeezed the trigger. A piece of flooring cracked right under the gecko’s foot and Arlo let out another curse. Raising his empty musket again, the catfolk barked out a spell.
“[Grease]!”
A patch of liquid appeared in front of the lizard. Arlo grinned as the first foot landed in the puddle. His grin faded as the gecko kept running through the puddle.
“Shit!”
Reloading, he brought his musket to bear once more, following the gecko. Arlo fired again, and this time, Ripnugget went flying off the gecko’s back. Smoke wafted from where he fell, but the goblin didn’t move a muscle.
Shalelu charged at the goblin, unsheathing a knife. She brought it down on the dead creature again and again.
Groaning at the ranger’s actions, Arlo turned on the remaining goblins surrounding Coradiel. The paladin wasn’t looking too great — blood flowed freely from several spots and his HP read 12 out of 32 left.
“Coradiel! Focus on healing!” Arlo called, letting off another shot. A goblin dropped, smoking from a hole in its chest. Clearing his throat, Arlo bellowed out, “Ripnugget is dead! Flee or you will follow! So says the Devourer of Words!”
And like the wind blowing smoke, the remaining four goblins scattered, leaving a wake of death and destruction. The room cleared, and Arlo slumped to the ground. He pressed a hand to his side, coming away bloodied.
“Fuck… anyone have some healing?”
“Someone does.” A man’s voice echoed around the chamber.
Arlo grabbed his musket, aiming it toward the southern doors. A human in plate armour stood in the doorway, holding up a glass vial. The scuffed armour spoke of years of combat, and weary eyes followed Arlo’s every move.
“You were the man with Bruthzamus,” Arlo said, levelling his musket. “What do you want?”
“Peace. You have wiped out nigh 40 goblins in the span of a day. I am the only guard left in this place, and I have come to surrender. I have no desire to die. I’m Orik, by the way. Here.”
The man tossed the vial to Arlo. Dropping his musket, the amurrun caught the vial.
“[Detect Magic].”
It took a few seconds for the vial to glow a faint yellow. It took another half minute for Arlo to piece the aura to the potion within.
“[Cure Light Wounds]?” He passed the potion to Coradiel, who downed the tincture immediately. Wounds began healing, and the paladin’s hit points rose by four. “Why?” Arlo demanded, not taking his eyes from the soldier. “Why didn’t you try to escape?”
Orik shrugged.
“You’re guarding the only entrance to this place,” he pointed out. “Not to mention the bridge is trapped — or was? Either way, I don’t fancy my chances of beating you and getting out of here alive. So I parlay, and hope that you’ll see reason. I never wanted to be here. This was just a job for me.”
“Job or not, you are here, conspiring with goblins and committing evil deeds,” Coradiel spoke up. He used a cloth to wipe the blood off his sword before sheathing it. “At best, your hope is a jail cell.”
“And likely a noose after,” Orik said with a sigh. “Look, if I show you to the treasury, will you consider setting me free? You can tell anyone you need to that I fell in combat, and I can start a new life in Magnimar. Maybe as a caravan guard.”
“We want Nualia,” Arlo said before anyone could interrupt him.
“Gone. She left during the night, and took our mage with her.”
“And Malfeshenkor?” Arlo demanded. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Nualia never let me know what was going on here. She just wanted someone to intimidate the goblins and make them follow her. All I know is she had a thing against Sandpoint for whatever reason.”
“We can’t let you go free,” Coradiel said.
“Why not?” Arlo interrupted. “He’s done nothing wrong himself. And it sounds like he was left here as a sacrifice. The goblin chiefs are all dead now, and Sandpoint is safe. We should be focusing on finding Nualia, not murdering a low level lackey.”
“He says after murdering forty guards,” Coradiel muttered.
“Hey, the goblins were asking for it,” Arlo snapped.
“Either way, we’re taking him back to Sandpoint to stand trial. We can come back and clear out the rest of this place.”
Arlo opened his mouth to argue more, but one look at Coradiel told him he was not winning this fight. He sighed, turning back to Orik.
“When we get to Sandpoint, you will help me make a map of this place,” the catfolk said. “If he sees you aiding us, maybe Sheriff Belor will be easier on you.”
Arlo highly doubted that would work, but it was the best Orik could hope for.