The tunnel widened dramatically as it curved down and around through the earth, its walls shifting from rough rock to blocks of slate. Shadowpaw padded alongside him, sniffing and alert, and Harald moved forward cautiously. He wanted to press against the tunnel wall, to make himself a smaller target, but the tunnel was becoming a circular tube, so that only by walking dead center did he have a flat surface.
Around and down it went, his scale-lantern pushing back the darkness, and when he finally saw diffuse light up ahead, the tunnel had become massive enough to easily drive a six-horse carriage through, the ceiling a good 25 feet above him.
The light was gray and dreary, like that of an overcast day or an anemic dawn. Lowering himself into a crouch, Harald rounded the last of the curve, and saw up ahead that the tunnel simply ended, the rim sharply demarcated all the way around, beyond which lay a huge cavern that appeared open to the skies.
Moving slowly, listening intently, Harald got down on his stomach and worked his way to the tunnel’s end. With extreme caution, he peered out into the 14th Level.
The cavern was perhaps a hundred yards deep, and encircled on both sides by towering gray cliffs so that it formed a rough oval. The broken ground was covered in dead brown grass and littered with gray rocks and rubble, with heavily eroded stretches of staircases on Harald’s half descending from broken levels to the center. More broad staircases rose on the far side to a huge circular tunnel mouth embedded in the far wall.
The entirety of the cavern floor was a strategic challenge, a mess of shattered boulders and steps, sharp drops and dry expanses of dead grass. Everything appeared weathered and old, as if this were a site long abandoned and perhaps once glorious.
And amidst this ruin stood the monsters.
Harald clenched his jaw at the sight of the hobgoblins. There was no mistaking them. A squad some six strong stood on the cavern’s far side, positioned just before the other tunnel. They were the size of a man, solidly built, and armored in salvaged pieces that formed something akin to half-plate. At this distance Harald couldn’t make out much more, but their rust-colored skin was evident, as was their alert focus as they stood peering back in his direction, as if expecting trouble.
Lolling about on the lower ledges below the hobgoblins were a mess of regular goblins. These made no pretense of alertness or discipline. Some wrestled with each other, some slept, others were crouched around small campfires where they seemed to be grilling rats on spits. There were some twenty of them all told, each with a javelin close at hand and a melee weapon at their belt.
Harald licked his lower lip. He wished he could make out the hobgoblins better. What weapons did they have? They were tiny at this distance. It looked like they’d remain above the fray, giving commands to the goblins from the highest ledge. The goblins would no doubt swarm him while they watched, softening him up.
Shadowpaw lay beside him, chin resting on its black paws.
“What do you think?” whispered Harald. “Are we outclassed, here?”
The Mastiff pricked its ears as it watched him, but otherwise made no answer.
“Right.” Harald looked back out. The gray light was pretty weak, so that plenty of shadows were gathered around the base of the cliff or pooled in nooks and dells. Perhaps Shadowpaw could slink out and make his way around the edge to flank the goblins?
Or perhaps Harald was thinking about this all wrong. Just because the enemy was on the cavern’s far side didn’t mean he had to go to them; what if he emerged and called for their attention?
The hobgoblins would no doubt watch him warily for a bit, then order the goblins forward as they followed behind to engage him.
Shadowpaw could be in place, hidden somewhere halfway across the cavern. Harald could unleash his Goldchops at the last moment, wrecking havoc on the goblin ranks before they could close. Perhaps even use his Umbral Aegis if too many javelins were falling on him.
Then, once the Goldchops did their grisly work, he could charge forward just as Shadowpaw attacked the hobgoblins from behind. Hammer and anvil.
Harald rubbed his chin.
That’d work as long as no reinforcements emerged from the tunnel.
Uneasy, excited, and a little jittery, Harald reached out to scritch Shadowpaw’s hide. “You ready? You’re going to creep out there and go as deep as you can along the wall without being seen. When I shout your name, you howl and attack the hobgoblins from behind, all right?”
The Mastiff glanced at him, brows furrowed.
“The hobgoblins. Those reddish guys in the back. You see them by the tunnel? I’m going to draw everyone toward me. You just stay quiet and hidden till I shout.”
Shadowpaw thumped his tail on the ground.
“Good. Go ahead then. Don’t let them see you. If they do…” Harald hesitated. “Then come back and stand with me. We’ll figure it out from there. If things look dangerous, we’ll just retreat.”
Shadowpaw rose and slunk out of the tunnel. Absolutely silent, he drifted down and immediately to the side so that Harald lost sight of him. Resisting the urge to crane his head out and watch the Mastiff’s progress, Harald instead settled in to wait and watch the cliff face where the hound would have to eventually appear.
He almost missed him. Shadowpaw was little more than a drifting cloud of shadow, hunkered down low so that his haunches and shoulder blades were pronounced, moving fluidly from shadow to outcropping, unhurried, and remarkably hard to notice.
He’d never ordered the Mastiff to sneak before, Harald realized; this must have triggered some ability of the Servitor that had never come into play before. Even staring right at the hound he had trouble picking him up, and now he remembered how Shadowpaw had trailed him on the 27th, unseen until at last he’d burst out to attack.
The goblins were like toddlers at a picnic, squabbling and eating and buffeting each other. A few lay sleeping on the grass, but otherwise they paid the environs no mind.
It was the hobgoblins that Harald watched. Something about the alert, tense manner they remained on guard hinted at their professionalism. Harald squinted at the small group, but they were just too far to read. But as long as they stayed still, it meant his plan was working.
Minutes passed. Harald lost track of Shadowpaw altogether, but he had to have reached the midway mark by now.
Time to act.
“All right.” He flexed his hands, unshouldered his pack and set it down against the wall, then took a sip from his water flask. “This won’t be a problem. They’re all practically dead already.”
Harald crawled to the lip of the tunnel. There was a five foot drop to the dead grass below. A small expanse of rock extended to a tiny cliff on the left, smoothed out to a weathered staircase that descended brokenly to the next level down. Broken rocks and boulders were piled up against the cliff walls.
Harald took one last breath, banishing the jittery feeling, and hopped down onto the grass below. Emerging into the light was weirdly disconcerting; some instinct bid him remain hiding, to not so brazenly expose himself to so many enemies.
Throat tight, Harald clapped his hands together loudly, rubbed them briskly against each other, then stepped up to the edge of his little rocky platform and cupped them to his mouth.
“Hey there! You goblins! My name’s Harald Darrowdelve, and I’ve come here in the hopes of killing every last one of you.”
His voice echoed across the expanse, and everyone on the far side immediately took note. Goblins ceased arguing, sleeping, eating, and jostled forward to gape at him, crowding in close.
The hobgoblins startled and shielded their eyes as if against the glare, peering across the huge cavern at where he stood.
Harald waved his arm helpfully.
The hobgoblins barked something at the goblins, who glanced at each other, the snatched up their javelins and began swarming down the irregular ledges and platforms toward him.
Only for one of the hobbos to yell, and cause them all to slow down and glance back guiltily at him. This time they formed up into a rough group, and with some basic cohesion resumed their approach.
“Good, good,” said Harald. “Come at me.”
Except the hobbos weren’t following the goblins. Instead they’d unslung something from around their bodies and were drawing their arms back.
Longbows.
Shit.
Harald watched, tense, as they loosed.
Their massive arrows shot into the air, arcing up high and flying toward him with incredible speed. Harald’s eyes widened and he hopped forward to drop to the scree below him. The six arrows hissed overhead and rattled off the rocks.
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Damn. They’d crossed the hundred or so yards in just a couple of seconds. And the six hobgoblins were already loosing their next volley.
But that just meant he had to keep moving and not give them a static target. Harald hustled across the slope, skipping sideways, Dawnblade appearing in his hand as he kept glancing between the arrows and goblins.
Another volley flew where he’d been, shattering against the small cliff. The arrows were big, each as long as Harald’s arm, thick as his finger, and with black feathers for fletching. A direct hit from one of those would probably see the arrow punch clear through him.
The goblins had reached the halfway mark, a long stretch of grass and rocks that then began to rise to where Harald stood. They sprinted forward eagerly, javelins at the ready, shouting and screaming and laughing as they came.
Harald reversed direction, skipping sideways again as the arrows dropped where he’d been. The hobgoblins were moving forward now, advancing some ten yards each time before loosing another volley.
Their attacks would only arrive more quickly and be more deadly for it.
Harald realized he was grinning.
The goblins rushed up a curving staircase, the shallow, deeply eroded steps easy for them to race up. They kept casting disconcerted glances his way. He didn’t blame them. His actions weren’t exactly making sense.
Another flight of arrows sped down, and Harald was forced to lunge aside. Damn. They were taking little more than a second now to cross the cavern. The hobgoblins moved with professional skill, keeping abreast of each other, stopping at the same time, drawing and loosing as one.
They were just shy of the final drop to the halfway stretch.
The goblins scrambled up the last ledge that put them in range to hurl their javelins. They were grinning nastily, their sharp teeth bright against their green skin, and spread out into a ragged line so that they could all cast at once.
Harald summoned the Goldchops.
They appeared on either side of him, bobbing as if floating on rough waters, their golden hatchet heads gleaming.
The goblins hesitated, cocking their heads and frowning at the weapons, then drew back again to hurl.
“Get ‘em,” whispered Harald, and broke left just as more clothyard arrows thwipped through where he’d been standing.
The Goldchops complied, splitting up and flying out wide. For a moment Harald was confused; why weren’t they moving directly toward the goblins?
He didn’t have time to ponder. The javelins flew his way, a thicket of them darkening the sky, and he dove down the grassy slope, head over heels to slide over the top of a drop, shouting in surprise as he fell, the weapons barely missing him.
The ground smashed into him, a rock digging into his hip, but he activated Dark Vigor and bounced back to his feet, strength and resiliency flooding into his system.
The goblins had pivoted, drawn their second javelins back, ready to execute him where he stood, when the Goldchops got to work.
They’d flown out wide, one on each side of the scraggly line of goblins, and now they came spinning toward each other. The goblins shrieked as the hatchets clove through them in rapid succession, each Goldchop swinging out wide to pursue the fragmenting line as the goblins dove and scattered.
They couldn’t get away.
Harald felt a premonition and threw himself aside.
Clothyard arrows slammed into the grass, shattered against the rock behind where he’d stood.
The hobgoblins were marching across the center stretch, paces uniform, drawing back on more arrows.
“Shadowpaw!” Harald pitched his voice to carry, and leaving the Goldchops to their butchery, began racing down the steps before him to close with the hobgoblins.
The Mastiff broke away from an innocuous patch of shadows, huge and fell, and bayed horrifically as it sprinted toward the rear of the hobgoblin formation.
Harald had to give it to the hobbos. They visibly startled at the sound of the howl, but didn’t break ranks. Instead, their leader braked a command and three of them turned to go back-to-back with the others, forming a tight rectangle.
Bows still raised, they loosed at a second bark, and this time Harald chose not to dodge.
It was time to test himself.
So he pounded right into the flying shafts, Dawnblade trailing behind him, and summoned the Umbral Aegis. Shadows streamed toward him, flowed up his body, hardened into overlapping plates of jagged obsidian. He felt his connection to the abyss become manifest, his cloak trailing behind him like a veil of night, his vision growing tinted by his near-translucent black faceplate, and then the three arrows hit him square in the chest.
It was like taking a couple of punches, blunt trauma that almost made him lose his footing even as he realized the arrows had failed to harm him. No pain, obviously, but he intuited the condition of the Aegis—the arrows had fragmented the cuirass, their combined potency enough to almost break through, but instead they bounced off and he let loose a bark of savage laughter.
One final flight of stairs, a short, steep slope, then a final drop-off before the center stretch.
Harald dismissed the Aegis, felt the shadows melt away, and summoned instead the Aching Depths. His twin Thrones were like furnaces burning before massive bellows, flames writhing white-hot, and with Dark Vigor lending him wings he sprinted right up to the drop-off and leaped.
Shadowpaw landed upon the rearmost three hobgoblins. All six had discarded their bows in favor of broad-bladed short swords and large shields.
Shadowpaw crashed down upon the center shield, knocking the hobbo into the one behind him, and then set to gnashing and clawing at the enemy who stabbed at him in turn.
Harald sailed through the air, trailing Dark Vigor’s burning flames, and though his Aching Depths washed over the hobgoblins, causing them to bunch together, shields raised, they didn’t break.
Instead they prepared themselves, their discipline formidable, swords drawn back to stab the moment he hit their raised shield wall.
Harald let out a cry and swept his abyssal blade before him, unleashing a Demonic Edge from just six feet away as he fell.
Raw, dark energy coursed through his body and flooded out through his blade. The arc of black power rippled down to cleave through the shields and slam into the hobgoblins, who screamed and fell back in sudden disarray.
It happened too fast for Harald to track.
He fell upon their broken rank, cleaving his abyssal blade down at an oblique angle. The center hobbo was badly wounded, his iron chestplate cracked, bright blood welling down his chest, and Harald’s slash took him across his thick neck.
This close he got a flash of their faces: huge fangs rising from its lantern jaw, hooked noses, large pointed ears pointing back, their skin a leathery, pebbled red, their eyes tiny under heavy brows and burning bright yellow.
The Dawnblade clove through the hobbo’s neck, and its square head sailed free. The other two were wounded, but had caught only the outer edge of the Demonic Edge; one had lost an arm, its stump blackened by the Edge’s searing unholy energy, the other receiving a deep gash across its ribs.
The Aching Depths chilled the very air, stole the very resolve from their hearts, made them doubt their ability to fight.
But they didn’t break. Instead they moved out wide, looking to flank him, but Harald didn’t give them the chance. He threw himself at the first, initiating the Dungeon Square, his long blade hewing down and then around and up. The hobbo staggered back, his parries clumsy; perhaps he was used to fending off blows with his shield, for he moved his stump reflexively, as if unable to understand that both shield and arm were gone.
Shadowpaw let out a howl and Harald felt him disappear into his Cosmos.
Harald drove the hobbo before him, cleaving and cutting with frenetic energy, and knocking the broad blade aside he slashed the monster’s face open, blackening its eyes and maw.
Instinct bid him clothe himself in the Aegis; he summoned the shadows, who whispered over him, hardening into an ebon suit of pure night, and then a mighty blow clove his shoulder as he turned, staggering.
The hobgoblin’s yellow eyes were wide as his blade bounced off the shadow armor, and then Harald thrust his abyssal blade straight at its face, but missed, the hobbo weaving aside, only for a Goldchop to smash into the side of its head at full speed, bursting his skull like a melon hurled angrily at the sidewalk from the top of a house.
Blood and brains sprayed after the departing Goldchop which sailed clear through and toward the remaining hobbo, the sole survivor of the three Shadowpaw had assaulted.
This one rasped out a cry of horror and dove aside. The Goldchop simply dipped, followed it down, and cut through the back of its neck, burying its golden blade inches into the dirt.
And like that it was over.
Harald swayed around, surveying the expanse. The goblins lay massacred upon their ledge, a couple having gotten a dozen yards away before being cut down. The second Goldchop flew up, joining its partner, and both moved to take their flanking positions about Harald’s shoulders, the gore sluicing right off them to leave them pristine.
Harald caught his breath, dismissing the Aegis, and stared at the dead hobbos. They lay strewn about, one with an arm torn clear off by Shadowpaw, his stomach disemboweled. The second had huge puncture wounds in its chest and neck, blood still oozing forth, his piecemeal armor insufficient to stop the Shadow Mastiff’s attack.
And then, like a benediction, Silver Starbursts arose from their corpses, a handful above each.
Harald grinned, though it pained him to have lost Shadowpaw. He, however, had come through unscathed. The Goldchops and the Mastiff had more than leveled the playing field, though part of him was curious: with Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge, could he have taken down the hobgoblins himself?
He collected the thirty-one Silvers, then made his way back to the goblins and collected their scales, which came out to another fifty-seven. He considered, then dropped twenty Starbursts in his pouch for emergency healing, and absorbed the remaining sixty-eight.
Scales: 495,357/1,000,000
He knew that absorbing almost 700 Moons in one go was a huge jump, but it still felt paltry. Grimacing, he scanned the dead bodies, then looked to the far tunnel. He’d need to do this another 500 times to Ascend his third Throne.
There had to be a better way.
Something caught his eye.
Just below the distant tunnel mouth was a box of some kind, dark and banded in metal.
A chest.
“Well all right,” whispered Harald, and set off at a jog. He crossed the huge oval, made his way up the varied staircases, and slowed only when the circular tunnel mouth yawned hugely above him. It was as massive as his own, edged in great gray slate blocks, its depths impenetrably dark. No doubt it led to the next battlefield.
Cautious, knowing that nothing would probably emerge, but not willing to discount the probability, Harald made his way over to the chest.
It was solidly built, the iron bands black, and though latched, it lacked a lock.
Why by the angels are we standing around chatting when there’s a chest to be opened? Have we gone mad?
Harald smiled ruefully at the memory, then knelt before the chest and lifted the lid.
A cloud of coruscating silver hovered within, flashing and scintillating, only for it to coalesce into the form a robust amulet crafted from a single piece of blood-red garnet. It was carved with a stylized visage of a fearsome hobgoblin, with a broad, sneering mouth, deep-set eyes, and high, arching brows.
An Artifact? Harald took it and turned it over in his hands. The garnet was set in a blackened iron frame inscribed with intricate engravings, and the chain was of heavy, tarnished silver, each link etched with tiny, sharp barbs that made it slightly uncomfortable to hold.
Artifact Acquired: Amulet of the Hobgoblin King
Quality: Uncommon
Special Ability: Command of the Horde
Activation: While wearing this amulet, gain the ability to speak with an exert influence over goblinoid creatures. Increases charisma and intimidation when dealing with goblinoids. Small chance to rally goblinoid enemies to your cause in battle.
+6 to Presence w/ goblinoids
Limitation: Effects only apply to goblinoid species. The amulet's power may draw unwanted attention from goblinoid leaders who sense their sovereignty challenged.
“Oh damn,” whispered Harald, bouncing the amulet in his palm. His thoughts raced, the possibilities unspooling in his mind.
Then, still thoughtful, he raised his eyes to the second tunnel entrance, and smiled.