Goblin Creek (rough)

The smoke of the still-smoldering village rose in the distance behind him as Rahken walked along a small trail that led into a light woods. Rahken's legs were tired from hurriedly trudging across the muddy terrian after seeing the smoke early this morning. He had meant to be at this village before nightfall the day before, but he had taken shelter in a small cave against a raging storm that had lasted until nearly dawn. By the time he had arrived, it had been too late to do anything. Rahken had stood in the smoking ruins of the village, surrounded by the dead bodies of all the men who had tried to fight off the attackers, and felt saddness and rage. These men had not deserved to die, they were simple farmers and craftsmen, they had done nothing to bring this upon themselves beyond being prosperous. But at least for them it had been relatively quick, Rahken had other concerns. There were no bodies of women or children, and Rahken could only imagine what might be happening to those pour souls while he stood there. And so he had pursued.

The attcker's trail was not hard to follow. There were a good number of the, at least seventy. They stuck to a well-marked path, and although the rains of the night before had churned the mud some their footprints were still plainly visible in places. By the shape of those footprints Rahken knew them to be goblins, probably raiders from the nearby lowlands. With each passing year the goblins grew bolder, and if nothing was done soon there would be a full scale war within a few years, or sooner. The goblins, motivated by greed for rich lands, needed only a spark to set this entire region aflame with war. But all of that was out of Rahken's hands, and so he concentrated on solving the problems he could solve.

He held his staff ready, an oak pole that was six feet long and two thumb widths wide. It was dented and marred by many strikes, but it had served him well for several months now and was one of the better staffs he had carried in his travels, although nothing like his first staff. He fingered the knives at his belt. Although they looked to be somewhat crudely crafted, they were in fact the best knives he had ever carried. Memories rushed forward in his mind as he remembered the times when guilt caused by an accident kept him from touching any blade. That guilt was what had made him choose the staff as his main weapon.

He pushed the memories back. Those days were done, and the guilt had long since faded away. Right now he needed to stay alert, goblins were cruel, brutal, and savage, but they were not stupid. They would have someone watching their back trail. He moved carefully, quietly, his trained muscles and years of experience let him slip along the path almost silently, but the effect was ruined by the sucking noise the mud made every time he lifted a foot. But that didn't matter, he was plainly visible to anyone who was looking. Normally he would sneak through the underbrush off to the side of the path, but with the current conditions he would barely be able to move through the thick underbrush, and he certainly wouldn't be able to stay silent while doing it.

And so he put his senses on high alert. His eyes searched every bush and every tree for movement, his ears listened for any sound that was out of place, his nose sniffed for the distint odor of goblins. No squirrel passed his notice, no bird hid from his awareness. His knuckles turned white as he held his staff in a crushing grip. His breathing became long and slow, his steps were carefully planned to land on the firmest ground, and make the least amount of noise.

He came to a stream. While normally small, the recent rains had flooded the stream over its banks. The path disappeared into the churning water and came back out on the other side. Under normal circumstances this would be a small ford, but right now the water was chest high and raging downstream, if Rahken stepped into it he would be swept away. He could see from where he stood on the southern bank that the goblins had crossed, probably before the worst of the rains the night before. Looking downstream, he could see a few bodies caught up at a bend in the stream, and indication that the goblins had not crossed without trouble.

A noise behind him brought him back to full alertness. It was a quiet, slow sucking noise, the same sound his own feet had been making while he walked. Although earlier the mud had annoyed him, now he thanked it. Whoever was behind him was nearly as good as he was at moving silently through the woods, without the mud Rahken might never have heard him coming. Rahken gave no indication that he had heard anything. He made a show of looking for a tree that leaned far enough over to allow him to cross. With every sucking step the unknown behind him came closer. His heart pounded, and his grip on his staff tightened again. He forced his breathing to remain slow and calm.

The sound came again, very close this time, and Rahken whirled around. He stood, staff ready, a grim expression on his face, staring at a single goblin armed with a savage spiked club. The goblin looked surprised, but quickly dropped into a combat stance, it's bowed legs bent, it's long arms held defensively in front of it. Several other goblins came out of the underbrush, and a dozen more began moving up from deeper in the woods. The first goblin seemed content to wait for his friends, and stood a few yards away glaring at Rahken.

Rahken had the raging stream to his back, and goblins sweeping to cut him off to the left and the right. Acting quickly, he lunged forward and, with a twist of his wrists, brought the staff around in a brutal strike to the first goblin's head. Bone could be heard cracking as Rahken crushed the side of the goblin's head in, leaving a dent one third as deep as its head was wide and spraying blood and bits of bone and brain matter onto the goblin just behind it.

The four nearby goblins immediately attacked. Twirling his staff in one hand, Rahken blocked the thrusts of spears and the swings of clubs, but they drove him back towards the water with each blocked blow. He switched to a more aggressive pattern, each twist of his staff bringing it close to their bodies, and he drove them back towards the trees. The other goblins were running to join the fight now.

Rahken lashed out suddenly, shattering the shin of one goblin. He blocked several more blows and then struck at the chest of another, snapping ribs and bruising internal organs. With a savage strike he crushed the shoulder of a third, sending it sprawling in the mud, then used his momentum to snap-kick the fourth in the gut, doubling it over and leaving it vulnerable to a killing blow to the back of its skull from his staff.

Now a dozen more enemies charged into the fight. For a moment it was all Rahken cold do to block their attacks coming from every direction. He took a blow to the back from a club that staggered him, and while his defense was weak another goblin pressed in with a spear, giving him a nasty cut along the side of his chest. Rahken rammed the end of his staff into the spear carrying goblin's face, sending it flying backwards, then he spun and slammed his fist into another goblin's chest, knocking the breath from it and pushing it away from the fight.

The others pressed in, and Rahken was forced to back towards the water again. Blows grazed him, none were serious but they hurt, and with each one his defense became a little bit weaker, allowing more blows to land. He returned the favor each time, with his staff or his foot or his fist, and soon a good number of the goblins lay sprawled out on the ground around him.

He twirled his staff in a defensive pattern, each blocked blow sent a jarring shock up his arm. Each strike taxed his already worn muscles. His legs, already tired after a long day of walking, protested at each lunge. His shoulders ached from swinging the staff and from the blows that had rained down on them.

With a quick motion of his hands he brought his staff up to a goblin's chin, sending the creature flying back through the air to land in a lifeless heap. He brought the staff around in another strike, shattering the hip bones of another goblin. With a series of brutal strikes and fast swings he left two more goblins lying broken and bleeding in the mud next to the stream.

Only one goblin remained. It stared in terror at Rahken as he brought his staff around and jabbed it in the throat. Its windpipe was crushed, and it collapsed to the ground grasping its throat until it died. Rahken searched for signs of further threats, scanning the surrounding woods with his eyes and ears, but he found nothing.

It was time to move on. The carrion birds and scavengers could have the bodies of the goblins, Rahken wanted only to cross the overflowed stream and find a place to rest for the night. His sore muscles and battle wounds complained with every move he made. Rahken bent down and set about cleaning his staff and himself at the edge of the stream, thinking about how he would cross.