Ben’s heart thrummed a deafening rhythm. With each step he took, the world around him seemed to lose color. Gates of sharpened logs that stood a head taller than he was swung open ten paces in front of him. A flood of short, green bodies armed with crude wooden clubs, sharpened bone daggers, and spears made of both spilled out of the village to meet the intruders.
The Berserker cackled with bone-chilling glee and jumped. Her small form sailed in an impossibly high arc over the wooden wall of the village, out of sight of the young man. He turned his attention to the oncoming mass of small, frenzied creatures and slowed down to settle into the stance he had learned from the old woman. A crude arrow whistled dangerously close past his ear and into the form of a goblin Archer whose body tumbled from atop the wall.
The young man began to panic, and his hands tightened with a shaky grip around the haft of his spear.
Breathe Ben. It’s just a dance, remember?
He told himself.
He stood still to meet the first club-wielding goblin with the tip of his spear. He thrust and found the creature’s flesh to offer little resistance as the blade pierced through its ribcage and punctured its lung. He withdrew his extended weapon, and the goblin dropped with a gurgling wail. He felt his stomach lurch at the feedback he felt through the haft of the spear.
Two more green creatures approached him, one of which fell to another of Jor’s crude arrows, and the other jumped at him, holding two shards of sharpened bone. Ben sidestepped the attack and twisted his hips to deliver a low slash at the goblin who landed next to him. His attack was ineffectual, as it hit the skull of the creature with the flat of the spear’s blade in a dull thud. It was soon dispatched by an arrow that pierced right through its head. He didn’t dare turn to thank Jor for the assistance, as there were an alarming number of goblins still running towards him.
He settled into the stance once more and felt a chill wind caress his being as the creatures stumbled with human-like expressions of terror on their faces. The goblins tried to retreat but they were physically petrified with fear.
"Kill them! Before more of them come!" He heard the command of the Squad Leader from behind him.
He moved to stab and thrust his spear into the chests of the disabled creatures. Ben felt sick. His throat gagged to try and keep the bile from escaping his stomach. The sounds of screeching and manic cackling could be heard from within the goblin village.
Ainsle’s presence emanated in thick waves that called out to something within him. A yearning or a lust to answer the call engulfed his body in a flash of heat. The nausea was flushed from his system, and he became more methodical in dispatching the goblins. He stomped and crushed skulls under his hide shoes while thrusting his spear over and over again until there were no living beings on the ground to kill. The colors of the world around him went dull, and only the blood of the slain creatures shone a deep crimson in his vision.
He followed the call and walked with purposeful steps into the village. Crude huts of yellowed grass and mud made up the dwellings of the creatures. Maimed goblin bodies littered the pathways, which Ben walked for about twenty paces before he arrived in a sandy area encircled by huts; its center was occupied by a large fire pit and crude spit, and the carcass of what he guessed to be a young human being was slowly bubbling and roasting over the low flames. At the opposite end of the clearing, he saw several cages made of long, thin, reed-like material. He couldn’t make out whether or not the cages held any captives from the distance at which he stood.
He heard another high-pitched scream from behind a particularly large hut to his left. He followed the sound and was greeted by the form of a blood-covered Ainsle, swinging her great mace in circular loops above her head. He felt the air displaced by the weapon, cooling the sweat on his brow. The old woman had a mad grin while looking toward something that he couldn’t see from his position.
He peered around the corner as he walked around the large hut. He felt a light tingle in the back of his throat, and the hairs on his arms stood on their ends. A flash of orange light and the crash of her weapon drew his attention back to the Berserker, who had fallen to one knee. Her armor smoked and hissed as the sheen of blood boiled and charred stains on the black-grey steel. The sight of the smoking form of the old woman roused him from his trance.
"Ainsle!" He exclaimed as he ran to her side.
Upon arrival, he saw that the source of the attack had come from a pair of contrastingly tall goblins. One appeared to be female, the only apparel it wore was an elongated, horned skull of an unidentifiable animal, covering its face as a mask. The goblin was pregnant, and it bore an uncanny resemblance to a thin, lanky human woman. In spindly hands that ended in long black nails, it held a pure white, smooth staff that ended in a perfectly symmetrical clasp, that held a swirling, red incandescent orb.
The female’s counterpart was an even taller male goblin with thick, corded muscles, almost as tall as Ben himself. In a loose two-handed grip, it held a large, rusty great axe leaned against its broad shoulder. It stood casually beside the pregnant goblin and gave no reaction to the arrival of the young man.
Ben knelt and placed a hand on Ainsle’s shoulder. The woman’s head was bowed and her eye was closed, the grin absent from her face.
"Ainsle, are you alright?" He asked with panicked breaths.
She exhaled slowly, and her grin returned. The young man felt her overwhelming presence lessen. She drew a breath and exhaled again. The pair of tall goblins appeared to be arguing under their breaths in a guttural language that he didn’t understand. The male relented to whatever spat they had, and he began to approach the pair on their knees.
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Ainsle chuckled. "It’s like trying to use a bloody hammer to swat a fly." She paused as she regarded the approaching goblin. "I’m fine. Just managed to rein in my Avatar in time. Had to leave some fun for you, you know?"
The old woman casually stood and wiped the dried goblin blood from her eye. Ben looked on in shock. Ainsle proceeded to stroll toward the wreckage of a hut to her left and retrieve her great mace, which had been embedded in the dirt. She hefted it up onto her shoulder and walked away a short distance to lean against a neighboring hut with crossed legs.
She’s a monster.
The young man regarded the relaxed woman with wide eyes.
The male had stopped his advance and expressed hesitation as it turned to glance at the pregnant female. The staff-wielding goblin shouted something indecipherable at the muscled male, who complied and fixed his gaze on Ben.
"Oh, there she is!" Exclaimed the Berserker.
"Forgive me, Ainsle; it appears these legs of mine are too slow to keep up with the Red Maiden."
Ben was startled as he heard Ann's voice approach. He turned to see her and Jor, who had deep furrowed brows, enter the pathway, stepping over countless bodies and parts of goblins strewn about the dirt. Ainsle let out a low whistle.
"Haven’t heard that name in a while…" She tilted her head toward the pair of tall goblins who were rooted to their respective spots, physically shivering in fear. "Mind taking care of that hob at the back, sweety?" She asked with a grin and an uncharacteristically sweet, yet coarse, voice.
"It would be my pleasure," the Priestess replied.
The young man watched as the Priestess smiled at the female hobgoblin; her eyes were focused, and she clasped her hands together. She glanced at Ben and winked, before whispering:
"Syphon of the Damned."
Immediately, the female turned to flee, but she collapsed on the ground in front of the entrance to the largest hut in the village. Ben heard a faint hum in the air, and he felt a slight tug of air being drawn from his lungs. The female writhed on the ground, and her skin went a sickly, pale green before she lay motionless.
The negative pressure in the air around the group abated, and Ann let out a satisfying sigh. The male rushed to the aid of the pregnant female and wailed softly while shaking her corpse.
"Fucking art, is what that is." The Berserker turned her gaze to Ben, who was still kneeling on the ground. "Benny-boy, it’s real rare to see a Priestess of _________ work. You should count yourself lucky."
Ben’s mouth stood agape as he swiveled his head back and forth between the women and the hobgoblins. Jor frowned silently as she returned the arrow she had nocked to her quiver.
"Let’s get this over with. Ainsle, let him do as you planned so we can get out of here," the Squad Leader said, voice laced with disdain.
The young man stood and furrowed his brows at the statement.
"Do what?" He asked the Archer.
It was Ainsle who replied.
"Training!" She said, her one eye wide in incredulity. "I saved that last one for you. Almost smeared it against that hut, but Ol’ Ain is the model of restraint, you see?"
Ben felt the nausea return with a vengeance. He surveyed the scene of corpses and entrails littered all over the section of the village. The two hobgoblins had displayed such human-like characteristics and mannerisms that he second-guessed himself. The fact that he watched a pregnant female, be ruthlessly killed, and her partner’s reaction to her death, left him feeling empty inside. He bent over and retched.
His traveling companions remained silent, and the only sound he could hear was the grief-stricken moan of the male hobgoblin.
Did we just murder people?
Ben straightened his back and tried to compose himself.
"This doesn’t feel right. What if they were just trying to survive and we…"
"Oi!" Ainsle interrupted. "Do you know how hobs are born? The little shits raid villages, caravans, and small convoys. They take young boys and girls back to their camp, 'cause they can’t carry the adults, you see?" The Berserker’s grin vanished. "The boys are eaten, usually alive, and the girls are tied up and raped every day and every night, without rest, until they give birth to these things you see here or they die from exhaustion." She paused. "If they, some-fucking-how, survive the repeated rape, they die giving birth, cause the hob eats its way out of the womb when its teeth are grown enough."
Ainsle’s tone was cold. Besides hearing of the loss of Captain Wilheim, Ben hadn’t seen this side of the old woman. He stood in silence for a few heartbeats before she spoke up again.
"Now. You better make it as slow and painful as you can. I want to taste the cunt’s suffering." Her tone was a warning.
Ben’s head spun at the implication. He turned to face the weeping hobgoblin and remembered the carcass on the spit above the fire and the reed cages in the clearing. His mind felt as if it settled into place with a click, and a frigid wave of realization hit him.
The villagers in Shalebeak were all missing…If they had overwhelmed us, would they have done the same to Ann?
He turned to face the Priestess who looked at him with soft blue eyes and an expression of consternation. He nodded to her and perhaps to himself as well. Ben felt an eerie, calm determination settle on his shoulders. He gripped his spear and flourished it to hear its blade sing in the air. He began to approach the hobgoblin, who stood and brandished its axe while howling a furious curse at the party.
It charged and swung the rusty axe in a powerful overhead strike at Ben. The young man advanced into its guard, essentially nullifying the strike that would be devastating to an opponent at medium range. The tarnished sword spearhead punctured the creature’s shoulder. He had aimed for its neck, but it appeared that he needed much more practice.
The hobgoblin let out a cry as his right arm slackened. It stepped back to gain some distance from the young man, its great axe had continued on its trajectory and stood at an angle, its blade embedded in the ground behind Ben. Ben began to fall into the dance before he heard a sharp whistle from the Berserker. He retreated two paces before turning to look at her.
"Let him pick up his weapon," she said, tone devoid of any humor.
He complied and waited for the creature to scramble for its weapon. The hobgoblin hefted the great axe with his left hand and threw it at Ben before charging him, sharp nails and even sharper teeth bared. He scrambled out of the path of the massive projectile and thrust his spear toward the midsection of the hobgoblin, and pierced its chest before withdrawing the weapon in a low arc. The hob’s momentum saw it slide along the dirt as its body succumbed to the wound. Ben heard gurgling and a few shallow breaths before the creature went silent.
A hot breath tickled the back of his neck, and the image of an obsidian claw resting on his shoulder flashed through his mind. He was jolted from his musings as he heard the cry of a voice from somewhere within the village.
"HERE! I’m here…"