Goblin Problems 2

Author's Note: This story was actually written by a friend on Discord! Check out their captions at https://hanastgcaptions.blogspot.com/ !
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A shout goes out and the town gates slowly rumbled open. A single Elven rider trots through the heavy oak gateway, a heavy, black travelling cloak covering her sliver hair. Several stop to watch her as she throws the hood back, casting a disapproving look at the onlookers as they admire such a fine elf on such a fine beast. To the watching Humans and Orcs, it appears that she’s simply one of those Elves; one that thinks she is the gods gift to the earth. Little did any of them know the true reason she looked upon them with such disdain.

It was frustration. The kind one feels when there is a hot, steaming pie sitting close enough to smell, close enough to feel its warmth radiating from the rich, golden crust but knowing that you cannot have that delectable snack. It’s so near and yet so far.

Worried it might blow its cover the impostor spurred its horse, making it go from a soft trot to a slow canter down the clearing streets. The crowd parted as usual, making way for the rider without an inkling of what was wrong. Some onlookers could’ve sworn that the heavy, stained cloth sack that hung off of the trim leather saddle moved but all passed it off as a result of the sudden change of pace.

The Goblin peers out through its stolen eyes, seeing so many delightful snacks among the crowd but needing to stave off its hunger for the bigger prize. It had been occupying this body for nearly a week at this point, mostly adapting to its new form and senses; learning how to make the best use of its new body in more ways than one. Of course, the whole time wasn’t just for learning how to be the elf he seemed to be. Much of it was spent helping his horde’s alchemist brew another one of the wonderful potions they’d used on poor Eliza.

Eventually, the Goblin found its destination and dismounted, a small boy rushing from a decrepit looking stable, one that was barely standing next to an old stone building with a weather-worn ‘Inn’ sign over the door. The boy took the reins of the weary horse before holding out his palm for payment. His had quickly receded when he saw the look in the eyes of the ‘elf,’ one of hunger and malice. He retreated with the horse and left the customer to take a large bag from her saddle and walk over the muddy approach before stepping into the old stone inn.

Her eyes adjusted in less than a second, picking out every detail of the slightly smoky bar room. An old man sat at the far end, tapping away at an old and broken piano. To his right was a set of stairs, an arrow indicating it to be the way to the rooms for rent. Just left was a grizzled old bar tender who’s small, beady eyes peered from behind a heavy brow and untamed beard.

“I want a room,” The ‘Elf’ grunted slightly at him, the clearly heavy bag tight in her hand, her eyes watering slightly as her highly tuned senses were assaulted by the unbearably pungent odor of booze from the man.

“Ten Kornicks a night…” The man grumbled back, watching his new customer for a few seconds before going back to ‘cleaning’ a filthy glass.

The ‘Elf’ handed over the money and walked across the barely attended bar, past the pianist and up the stairs before stumbling into the first room and dropping the bag onto the threadbare rug that lay the canter of the scant room. Out of it rolled three Goblins and several vials of the infamous paralysis potion. The first was fatter than the other two, greasy white hair loosely hung from its skull and several chins showed its long lifetime of eating and eating well compared to the other two. The second was the thinnest; it’s delicate ribcage viable through tight and slightly translucent green skin. The last was bald but had some random hairs jutting from its chin. The trio of nasty, green creatures snapped at one another before the ‘elf’ thrust several vials into their clawed hands, glaring as the three slowly stopped fighting.

The ‘Elf’ snarled and barked at them in a series of sharp noises that made the three nod their heads. Two, the fattest and thinnest of the trio, scurry over to the small window and climb out into the last of the amber light of a fast-setting sun. The third looks up as the ‘elf’ rolls her eyes and plucks it off the ground and drops it back into the sack before marching back out, glad it was no-longer burdened by the weight of the fattest of the group.

A smile is plastered on her face as she strolls through the town, now on foot. Having never been in such a grand place as this heavily guarded and walled town, she looks around in awe at the metal oil lamps that light the street and the stone buildings that were not just reserved for the richest but for most of the town too. Vettalshire was a wealthy trading post, located on two different trading paths. The horde the four infiltrators had come from didn’t care for the details, all they knew was that it was full of flesh and far too well defended for them to attack… That is without something to weaken their defenses first.

The ‘Elf’ quickly traveled towards the town center, the Goblin on its back in tow. The dirt changed to hard flagstone, making the heeled boots that had proved so hard to walk in at first emit a soft clack with every step. They bypassed numerous walking ‘sacks of meat’ dressed in everything from thin cloth tunics to bright and shining plate armor. Finally, they reached a low and dark building with a huge banner hanging above its door. The building was about three stories tall, with many great stones jutting from the roof, forming battlements. Bars sat over every single window, making it look like a prison or a fortress. In reality, it was neither. It was the guard’s barracks; the last holdout in case of an attack and the seat of power of the famous Liandrin of the Forest City.

In the late hours, much of the guard had been deployed and were now patrolling the streets so slipping into the Barracks and searching for the grandiose Captain herself wasn’t hard. If spotted, she was just a poor elf who got turned around in the bustle of the market outside after all. Soon they found her, sitting alone in the canteen, slowly eating from a wooden bowl of slightly grey stew with her back to the pair as they huddled in the doorway.

She heard a small clatter outside as the Elf dropped her brethren but simply shook her head, too tired to look into it. She’d been traipsing round the countryside looking for an important guild member of a nearby town who’d gone missing, one “Eliza Eucliwood.”
Another noise and the Paladin turned, her tired eyes widening when she saw who had entered the room; the very woman she’d been hunting for several days. Liandrin blinked her tired eyes, bringing her hands up to rub them. Surely she must be seeming things? When she lowered her hands, she saw the same Elf standing before her, now holding a vial of something.

Before Liandrin could react, the vial was thrown was thrown at her, shattering, the liquid rapidly causing her body to lock up! She’d only managed to open her mouth in shock and lower her arms before the potion took full affect and locked her in place. Her eyes would’ve widened if they could’ve as she saw a small green Goblin scurry out from behind Eliza’s legs and towards her, a big grin on its face.

The Goblin paused to take in the sight before it. Liandrin’s platinum blonde hair was done up in an elaborate braided style, one that kept it from her eyes and face. Her arms and legs were still armoured, but her breastplate was missing, leaving only a well-stitched brown leather tunic with thin cord hanging down to tighten the neck. The Paladin’s calm eyes were a bright blue, swimming with light, life and experience. She was clearly not much older than the Elf, physically at least, as her face was smooth and wrinkles with only a single, long and thin scar from her left brow to the corner of her mouth to spoil her perfect features.

The smirk on Eliza’s face widened as she watched her brethren scramble up the leg of the Paladin, clawing up her heavily armoured leg and up her leather tunic that usually sat underneath a large, shining breastplate with her family’s insignia proudly engraved upon it.

With surprising speed, the Goblin dug it’s gnarled, yellowing claws into the thin tunic that hid a body built and toned for years to be perfect in combat. It could feel her tightly locked muscles as it scampered up, hooking its hands around her wrists and hauling itself into a squat on her extravagant bracers.

Liandrin’s panic now had passed as she began to put together what the Goblin was doing. With all her worldly focus, honed by years of training, she managed to move a single finger ever so slightly. Now the Goblin was yanking on her jaw, prying it open. Another finger. It tossed its leather loin cloth away and slipped a foot between the Paladin’s puffy lips. Then another finger. Finally she managed to ease the rosary out of her bracer and squeezed it tight, forcing her eyelids shut in a cry for help from those she’d served her entire life.

No Reply.

Now the Goblin was pulling its head into her jaw, cackling as the taste of rotten meat overpowered the defenceless Captain’s senses. It scurried down her throat, but before reaching her belly it dug it’s nails in. Now it heaved itself up until it could feel her skull and began to scratch away at the hard surface.

Liandrin couldn’t believe it. It was taking her. Nothing could stop it, not even her so called gods. The pain overpowered her control and the rosary fell. Hitting the stone with a clack as her skull broke with a crack. With her last breath, she cursed those deities. The ones that left her to die.

Then came nothing.

No pain.

No light.

No hope.
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After a few minutes of violent convulsing, Liandrin’s body stopped. Her eyes still closed, her back cracking slightly as she lifted herself upright into a sitting position before her eyes snap open. Her pupils small and wild. The light that once made them glow now all gone leaving only the blue, now matte and dead. A wide, thin smile spread over her lips, tightening them as her unarmored hands reached up to grope at the sweet and soft flesh hidden away beneath the tunic.

“Perfect…” ‘Liandrin’ groaned happily, her voice cold and hard, “I’m perfect…”

“And delicious…” ‘Eliza’ purred as she took a step forward, her buxom chest jiggling.

Before either could exchange another word, they both heard several screams followed by a bugle call. The attack had begun. The other two Goblin’s had gone and taken over the Gate Operators and now had heaved the hardwood wall up, leaving the path open for the rest of the horde, hidden away in a nearby wood.

The guards quickly tried to rally, many rushing out without much if any armor on and only a dagger or short sword in hand, certain to meet their death. Others rushed to the canteen to call upon their leader to marshal and rally them. Her very presence was said to calm even the most panicked of people. But when they reached her, she merely told them to go back to their bunks as it was merely ‘the rabble getting rowdy.’

Some did as she said, others charged out defiantly to their deaths, seemingly eager to meet their comrades in the grave. The cobble streets, once so full of life and cheer, now ran red with the blood of the dead. There was no glory. There was no heroism. Self-sacrifice to the horde would only buy others a few seconds of fear and terror more.

And throughout it all, the Dark Elf and the Paladin watched with wild grins before striding out to meet their brethren and join in the feast of flesh, wondering who would be the next to be taken. After all, they still had to pay the Valkyries a visit…