For a moment, all was lost. They’d fought their way to the gates of the city walls without too much trouble, but now Kelvun and his sell swords were surrounded. One minute there were only a few goblins anywhere to be seen, and then at some unseen signal they boiled out of the burnt out buildings on all sides of the market square.
Even then, the Viscount still thought they had a pretty decent shot. They were only outnumbered four or five to one, which would have been a death sentence against a real army, but was pretty close to an even match when it came to these pests. At least that's what his men had told him. With this many goblins people would die, of course, but he was towards the center of the formation, so he should be fine.
That’s when the fires started. Kelvun shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He’d seen them use magic at Holt just before he’d ridden that shaman down. Everyone knew the green skins had dark powers, he just didn’t expect them to be so, well, powerful. Out of nowhere, a wall of flame scorched everything on the east side of the marketplace, and men died by the score, and he was lucky to be just knocked off his feet by the blast.
At that moment he lost hope along with most of the men he’d led here. The dreams had promised him victory, but there would only be death here. There was no way they could face such terrible magics without spell casters of their own.
The rest of the goblins picked that moment to charge, and Kelvun almost ran for his life. It wasn’t appearances that stopped him, though. He’d rather be a live coward than a dead hero.
It was a moment of complete shock. For a few seconds the plaza had been as bright as day once more, and even after that, men and structures continued to burn, bathing the place in a flickering orange glow.
Then, just as suddenly as the fires had appeared, they vanished. Not just the ones that the shamans were casting, either, but the ones that had been left behind. In a single second, every last fire was snuffed out, and the moment of pure terror was replaced by a strange calm as both humans and goblins looked around for a moment, wondering what had happened.
The assault that had almost broken the back of his men dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and Kelvun rose shakily to his feet, grateful that very little of the blood that he was covered in was his as the fight roared to life once more around him. The first thing he did, was to stab an already dead goblin not once, but twice. It wasn’t rage that this thing had almost killed him, or even vengeance for the man that the thing had killed. Kelvun was more pragmatic than that.
Now that the fight was rejoined, the tide was already turning against the goblins, and even now they were starting to retreat on the west and south sides of the square now that those wretched shamans had stopped casting their terrible magics, and in another minute or two there might not be any goblins left to fight. So, Kelvun needed some green blood on his blade before anyone looked around and noticed how little fighting he’d done himself.
The moment that he’d cowered for his life as the gouts of flame all but consumed him wouldn’t be remembered by anyone. Not anyone that mattered, anyway. They would remember only that he had taken the field and beaten back the green menace. The bards that he would pay would make sure of that.
Kelvun looked around, and spotted a group of goblins that were already starting to flee before the scything blows of a pair of hardened mercenaries, and shouted, “to me! Let’s beat the bastards back!” as he charged towards the retreating enemy. He made a good show of it, but never once got close to the goblins. He repeated this several times, never reaching a group of goblins before they’d fled or been felled.
In the dark of night, the sudden absence of fires made it hard to see what was happening at all times, but he was fairly certain they either were winning, or had already won. All that remained was to find out the butchers bill.
That’s what he was thinking about when a sudden blow from out of nowhere hit him on his blindside and sent him sprawling. Kelvun managed to hold on to his sword, and scampered to his feet, only to see the biggest goblin he’d ever seen ripping out the throat of a warrior with his teeth.
Most of the goblins of this fight stood between three and four feet tall. This one was a little under five feet tall, and across its dark green skin were a web of scars and muscles that covered it like an evil spider web.
For a second, all Kelvun could do was stand there with his sword outstretched, but then the thing turned and locked it’s glowing red eyes on him, he did manage to piss himself as he stood there in utter terror. It jumped off of the dying man and charged at Kelvun, and suddenly he was filled with the certainty that he was going to die. The battle might be won, but this thing could still kill him before he could enjoy the fruits of his hard work.
Then suddenly, the thing just froze.
Less than a foot from Kelvun it simply stopped walking. Instead, it stood there, with straining muscles, but all it could do was snarl and snap. Kelvun was confused, but he wasn’t about to waste this miracle, and he ran the monster through.
Even with a sword in its chest, it took the goblin far too long to die, and in its death throes it did more than a little damage to Kelvun’s armor as he bore it to the ground and pinned it to the cobblestones with his blade. By the time it stopped squirming, and he looked up, it was all but over. A ragged force was riding out of the city, and the tide had clearly turned against the green skins.
They were in full retreat.
The fact that they were running didn’t mean it was over. Not really.
It would be weeks before the stragglers were dead, and months before there was even a semblance of normalcy in the city. For Kelvun, all it meant was that he’d lived, even if he couldn’t stop shaking.
By the time the last of the visible goblins had been butchered, and the wounded men that might yet live were bandaged, it was pitch black out. The torches that had been distributed didn’t quite fix that problem. They just trapped Kelvun in his own little bubble of light as he walked with the last of his warriors to the gates of the city, and in that little bubble all he could see were dead goblins by the hundreds.
Just getting rid of this many corpses would be a serious undertaking, he thought, smiling, as he tried not to step on any of the grotesque bodies scattered in front of him like a green carpet. If they’d been closer to the swamp, Kelvun had a feeling that most of them would disappear in the middle of the night to serve some unspeakable purpose, but as it was, it would take weeks just dig the graves big enough to bury all of them and let them rot.
That wouldn’t be Kelvun’s problem, though. He’d never dug ditches in his life, but even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t now that he was the heir.
In spite of all the terrible carnage that surrounded him, that thought buoyed him. He was not only the savior of Fallravea, but also the heir to his father’s title. Those thoughts made it hard for him to pretend to be somber and serious as he slowly made his through the throngs of battered warriors and well-wishers to the palace. All he would have to do was wait until the old man keeled over, and then he’d finally have it all. The title. The money. The power. Everything.
Did he really have to wait, though? He asked himself as he climbed the familiar steps to his home. His father was growing old and feeble, and was drunk half the time anyway. A sudden fall down the stairs, a touch of poison, or even a pillow over his face while he slept.
Any of those would be better than waiting, he realized as he walked into his home, ignoring the servants as he focused on more weighty matters. Kelvun realized he could easily hire a professional to handle this once everything had settled down. That came with its own drawbacks, of course, but none of those would be the reason he didn’t have someone else do his dirty work for him.
No, Kevlun wanted to do it himself. He wouldn’t say he had a taste for killing. On the battlefield in terrified him, and off of it, it was only a middling thrill that couldn’t hold a candle to girls or winning at dice.
Killing his father though. That would be something. He’d thought about it before, of course, but deemed it too risky. Here though - now, in the aftermath of these terrible battles while the city was still smoldering, who would know? Kelvun could blame literally anything. The suffering of Lord Garvin’s people, the death of his second son, or even just the will of the gods. Who would question any of those things on tonight of all nights?
“Right this way sir, if you could come with me,” one of the man servants said, trying to grab Kelvun by the elbow, but the boy shook him off.
“I will visit my father when I’ve taken care of other matters, Marcus,” Kelvun snapped, annoyed to be disturbed in his moment of triumph. He still reeked of piss and would not visit his father to hear his congratulations or to murder the man until he was clean and presentable.
“But, I… He—” Kelvun stormed off, leaving the servant sputtering in his wake while he went to his room to clean up and change.
“Wearing blood spattered armor and stained trousers was not the way to handle such an important moment in your life,” he muttered to himself as he shed his garments and used the wash basin to clean up.
Once that was done, Kelvun returned to the hall, and strode confidently down it while he tried to hold a resolved expression that would effectively cover the joy that was swelling in his heart that he was so close to true victory.
The servants, likewise, looked at him with respectful and somber expressions as he made his way to his father’s rooms. Some even had tears of joy in their eyes as they looked at him, and he nodded to each of them in turn, giving them the dignified response that he imagined a Lord would.
Since very soon he would be, not just a Lord, but The Lord. All those thoughts and plans came to a sudden stop, though, when he opened up the door to his father's bedroom to find him surrounded by graybeards and other lords.
For a moment, Kelvun thought that the man had summoned the leading luminaries of the city to praise him very publicly. It took a few seconds for him to realize that many of these men were doctors and priests.
Which meant his father was dead already.
Kelvun shook his head and lowered his face to hide his tears. They weren’t tears of sadness, though, but of frustration. He’d wanted to be the one to deliver the blow, but someone, either the gods or his patron, had stolen that opportunity from him.
Kelvun should have been thrilled. He was finally Count Garvin, and ruled over the whole region. He wasn’t though. On the day of his greatest triumph, everything tasted like ashes.
For a moment, all was lost. They’d fought their way to the gates of the city walls without too much trouble, but now Kelvun and his sell swords were surrounded. One minute there were only a few goblins anywhere to be seen, and then at some unseen signal they boiled out of the burnt out buildings on all sides of the market square.
Even then, the Viscount still thought they had a pretty decent shot. They were only outnumbered four or five to one, which would have been a death sentence against a real army, but was pretty close to an even match when it came to these pests. At least that's what his men had told him. With this many goblins people would die, of course, but he was towards the center of the formation, so he should be fine.
That’s when the fires started. Kelvun shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He’d seen them use magic at Holt just before he’d ridden that shaman down. Everyone knew the green skins had dark powers, he just didn’t expect them to be so, well, powerful. Out of nowhere, a wall of flame scorched everything on the east side of the marketplace, and men died by the score, and he was lucky to be just knocked off his feet by the blast.
At that moment he lost hope along with most of the men he’d led here. The dreams had promised him victory, but there would only be death here. There was no way they could face such terrible magics without spell casters of their own.
The rest of the goblins picked that moment to charge, and Kelvun almost ran for his life. It wasn’t appearances that stopped him, though. He’d rather be a live coward than a dead hero.
It was a moment of complete shock. For a few seconds the plaza had been as bright as day once more, and even after that, men and structures continued to burn, bathing the place in a flickering orange glow.
Then, just as suddenly as the fires had appeared, they vanished. Not just the ones that the shamans were casting, either, but the ones that had been left behind. In a single second, every last fire was snuffed out, and the moment of pure terror was replaced by a strange calm as both humans and goblins looked around for a moment, wondering what had happened.
The assault that had almost broken the back of his men dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and Kelvun rose shakily to his feet, grateful that very little of the blood that he was covered in was his as the fight roared to life once more around him. The first thing he did, was to stab an already dead goblin not once, but twice. It wasn’t rage that this thing had almost killed him, or even vengeance for the man that the thing had killed. Kelvun was more pragmatic than that.
Now that the fight was rejoined, the tide was already turning against the goblins, and even now they were starting to retreat on the west and south sides of the square now that those wretched shamans had stopped casting their terrible magics, and in another minute or two there might not be any goblins left to fight. So, Kelvun needed some green blood on his blade before anyone looked around and noticed how little fighting he’d done himself.
The moment that he’d cowered for his life as the gouts of flame all but consumed him wouldn’t be remembered by anyone. Not anyone that mattered, anyway. They would remember only that he had taken the field and beaten back the green menace. The bards that he would pay would make sure of that.
Kelvun looked around, and spotted a group of goblins that were already starting to flee before the scything blows of a pair of hardened mercenaries, and shouted, “to me! Let’s beat the bastards back!” as he charged towards the retreating enemy. He made a good show of it, but never once got close to the goblins. He repeated this several times, never reaching a group of goblins before they’d fled or been felled.
In the dark of night, the sudden absence of fires made it hard to see what was happening at all times, but he was fairly certain they either were winning, or had already won. All that remained was to find out the butchers bill.
That’s what he was thinking about when a sudden blow from out of nowhere hit him on his blindside and sent him sprawling. Kelvun managed to hold on to his sword, and scampered to his feet, only to see the biggest goblin he’d ever seen ripping out the throat of a warrior with his teeth.
Most of the goblins of this fight stood between three and four feet tall. This one was a little under five feet tall, and across its dark green skin were a web of scars and muscles that covered it like an evil spider web.
For a second, all Kelvun could do was stand there with his sword outstretched, but then the thing turned and locked it’s glowing red eyes on him, he did manage to piss himself as he stood there in utter terror. It jumped off of the dying man and charged at Kelvun, and suddenly he was filled with the certainty that he was going to die. The battle might be won, but this thing could still kill him before he could enjoy the fruits of his hard work.
Then suddenly, the thing just froze.
Less than a foot from Kelvun it simply stopped walking. Instead, it stood there, with straining muscles, but all it could do was snarl and snap. Kelvun was confused, but he wasn’t about to waste this miracle, and he ran the monster through.
Even with a sword in its chest, it took the goblin far too long to die, and in its death throes it did more than a little damage to Kelvun’s armor as he bore it to the ground and pinned it to the cobblestones with his blade. By the time it stopped squirming, and he looked up, it was all but over. A ragged force was riding out of the city, and the tide had clearly turned against the green skins.
They were in full retreat.
The fact that they were running didn’t mean it was over. Not really.
It would be weeks before the stragglers were dead, and months before there was even a semblance of normalcy in the city. For Kelvun, all it meant was that he’d lived, even if he couldn’t stop shaking.
By the time the last of the visible goblins had been butchered, and the wounded men that might yet live were bandaged, it was pitch black out. The torches that had been distributed didn’t quite fix that problem. They just trapped Kelvun in his own little bubble of light as he walked with the last of his warriors to the gates of the city, and in that little bubble all he could see were dead goblins by the hundreds.
Just getting rid of this many corpses would be a serious undertaking, he thought, smiling, as he tried not to step on any of the grotesque bodies scattered in front of him like a green carpet. If they’d been closer to the swamp, Kelvun had a feeling that most of them would disappear in the middle of the night to serve some unspeakable purpose, but as it was, it would take weeks just dig the graves big enough to bury all of them and let them rot.
That wouldn’t be Kelvun’s problem, though. He’d never dug ditches in his life, but even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t now that he was the heir.
In spite of all the terrible carnage that surrounded him, that thought buoyed him. He was not only the savior of Fallravea, but also the heir to his father’s title. Those thoughts made it hard for him to pretend to be somber and serious as he slowly made his through the throngs of battered warriors and well-wishers to the palace. All he would have to do was wait until the old man keeled over, and then he’d finally have it all. The title. The money. The power. Everything.
Did he really have to wait, though? He asked himself as he climbed the familiar steps to his home. His father was growing old and feeble, and was drunk half the time anyway. A sudden fall down the stairs, a touch of poison, or even a pillow over his face while he slept.
Any of those would be better than waiting, he realized as he walked into his home, ignoring the servants as he focused on more weighty matters. Kelvun realized he could easily hire a professional to handle this once everything had settled down. That came with its own drawbacks, of course, but none of those would be the reason he didn’t have someone else do his dirty work for him.
No, Kevlun wanted to do it himself. He wouldn’t say he had a taste for killing. On the battlefield in terrified him, and off of it, it was only a middling thrill that couldn’t hold a candle to girls or winning at dice.
Killing his father though. That would be something. He’d thought about it before, of course, but deemed it too risky. Here though - now, in the aftermath of these terrible battles while the city was still smoldering, who would know? Kelvun could blame literally anything. The suffering of Lord Garvin’s people, the death of his second son, or even just the will of the gods. Who would question any of those things on tonight of all nights?
“Right this way sir, if you could come with me,” one of the man servants said, trying to grab Kelvun by the elbow, but the boy shook him off.
“I will visit my father when I’ve taken care of other matters, Marcus,” Kelvun snapped, annoyed to be disturbed in his moment of triumph. He still reeked of piss and would not visit his father to hear his congratulations or to murder the man until he was clean and presentable.
“But, I… He—” Kelvun stormed off, leaving the servant sputtering in his wake while he went to his room to clean up and change.
“Wearing blood spattered armor and stained trousers was not the way to handle such an important moment in your life,” he muttered to himself as he shed his garments and used the wash basin to clean up.
Once that was done, Kelvun returned to the hall, and strode confidently down it while he tried to hold a resolved expression that would effectively cover the joy that was swelling in his heart that he was so close to true victory.
The servants, likewise, looked at him with respectful and somber expressions as he made his way to his father’s rooms. Some even had tears of joy in their eyes as they looked at him, and he nodded to each of them in turn, giving them the dignified response that he imagined a Lord would.
Since very soon he would be, not just a Lord, but The Lord. All those thoughts and plans came to a sudden stop, though, when he opened up the door to his father's bedroom to find him surrounded by graybeards and other lords.
For a moment, Kelvun thought that the man had summoned the leading luminaries of the city to praise him very publicly. It took a few seconds for him to realize that many of these men were doctors and priests.
Which meant his father was dead already.
Kelvun shook his head and lowered his face to hide his tears. They weren’t tears of sadness, though, but of frustration. He’d wanted to be the one to deliver the blow, but someone, either the gods or his patron, had stolen that opportunity from him.
Kelvun should have been thrilled. He was finally Count Garvin, and ruled over the whole region. He wasn’t though. On the day of his greatest triumph, everything tasted like ashes.
