Karg the goblin stared at the ceiling of his large canvas tent that he shared with a half dozen other goblins from various tribes. He was alone. All but one of Karg's tent-mates had gone off with the Master for the night's assault on the elves.
Karg had been assigned to clean up the worg droppings being left all over camp. As appealing as his detail was, Karg couldn't help feeling slighted. He was, after all, a warrior of the Bloody Talon. He'd finished in no time and returned to his tent a few minutes before all the hells had opened around the camp.
The other goblin who was in the tent had gone running off at the sounding of the alarm and all of the chaos of the wolves and zarx and shouting hobgoblins. Not being a member of Karg's Bloody Talon tribe, he really could care less what happened to the other goblin...damned no good "Rancid Meat" tribe or some such.
Damned no good Rancid Meat goblins.
This caused the goblins small mind to wander...it had been several weeks since he'd seen any other Bloody Talon goblins around camp. When they'd first arrived, they were the always at the Bulgruch's side...his trusted soldiers. The Bulgruch had led them out from their hunting grounds. The Bloody Talon was the FIRST goblins to heed the Bulgruch's cry to war.
But since the damned no good "hobo's" showed up...and after them the black-robed humans with their skull masks, Karg and his fellows had been pushed further and further from the Bulgruch.
Maybe he was the last warrior of the Bloody Talon left? He could return to their territory in the south and claim all of the females for himself! When had he last seen another Bloody Talon goblin...?
The thought did not have time to run through the goblin's memory before a hairfoot with a crimson shirt and blue-grey cloak trailing behind came rushing into his tent.
The daelvar raced through the length of the tent without even looking at Karg. He slashed an "X" in the opposite wall of the tent before diving through.
Karg was similarly unmoved, though did raise an eyebrow as a brown bearded dwarf burst through the tent flaps, close on the hairfoot's heels shouting, "Hurry! Hurry!" before he, too, dove through the small opening the first demi-human had just carved into his tent.
Even as the boots of the dwarf disappeared out of view, a worg's huge head, snapping massive fang-filled jaws, and shoulders bounded into the tent. The beast barreled right into the central pole holding up the tent. It easily tore the tent from its stakes and the whole canvas domicile was ripped up from the ground, entirely entrapping the great lumbering monster-wolf which fell in a writhing mass of fabric and ropes and wooden stakes. Howling and growling and barking in fury to disentangle itself.
Before it had a chance, the hairfoot and the dwarf were upon the creature, stabbing wildly through the canvas with daggers...one of which, the dwarf's, glowed a smoky eerie green energy.
As the blood stains began to soak the remains of the tent and seep out from under it, the two stoutfolk raced off into the night.
"Uh...hunh." Karg murmured blankly.
Karg's eyes followed them and then, dumbly, looked around the camp from his now-exposed bedding.
Disarray was everywhere. There were shouting hobo's and Black Fang goblins arguing. Damned no good Black Fang goblins but 'least they were better than the damned no good hobo's.
Zarx and worgs knocked over water barrels and crashed into other tents as they did battle to determine who would be eating whom. Karg didn't really care not being one of the zarx-riders, himself, just a simple infantry-goblin. Damned no good worgs.
Then a great muscled human with huge feathered wings flew over his head.
Karg's lip twitched to the side a bit. He exhaled a soft "Mm'hm." and then nodded to himself.
The goblin soldier calmly got off the tattered elvin cloaks and tunics that had formed his bedding.
Karg pulled a lump of moldy bread and the maggot-infested remains of an elf's forearm he had been hording out from under his sleeping place.
He collected the "food", a half full skin of bloodwine, and two sacks of elf trinkets he'd buried beneath his sleeping place, accumulated from the battlefield over his almost two months on the front.
Karg tied all of it in a blood-stained elvin cloth at the end of his spear.
He shouldered the weapon, placed his ill-fitted helmet on his mottled green head and silently began the long trudge into the night, south and east, toward his tribe's ancestral territory.
Nope, Karg realized. He had not seen a Bloody Talon goblin in almost two weeks. Maybe they'd all left already and not told Karg. Damned no good Bloody Talon goblins.
Karg had been assigned to clean up the worg droppings being left all over camp. As appealing as his detail was, Karg couldn't help feeling slighted. He was, after all, a warrior of the Bloody Talon. He'd finished in no time and returned to his tent a few minutes before all the hells had opened around the camp.
The other goblin who was in the tent had gone running off at the sounding of the alarm and all of the chaos of the wolves and zarx and shouting hobgoblins. Not being a member of Karg's Bloody Talon tribe, he really could care less what happened to the other goblin...damned no good "Rancid Meat" tribe or some such.
Damned no good Rancid Meat goblins.
This caused the goblins small mind to wander...it had been several weeks since he'd seen any other Bloody Talon goblins around camp. When they'd first arrived, they were the always at the Bulgruch's side...his trusted soldiers. The Bulgruch had led them out from their hunting grounds. The Bloody Talon was the FIRST goblins to heed the Bulgruch's cry to war.
But since the damned no good "hobo's" showed up...and after them the black-robed humans with their skull masks, Karg and his fellows had been pushed further and further from the Bulgruch.
Maybe he was the last warrior of the Bloody Talon left? He could return to their territory in the south and claim all of the females for himself! When had he last seen another Bloody Talon goblin...?
The thought did not have time to run through the goblin's memory before a hairfoot with a crimson shirt and blue-grey cloak trailing behind came rushing into his tent.
The daelvar raced through the length of the tent without even looking at Karg. He slashed an "X" in the opposite wall of the tent before diving through.
Karg was similarly unmoved, though did raise an eyebrow as a brown bearded dwarf burst through the tent flaps, close on the hairfoot's heels shouting, "Hurry! Hurry!" before he, too, dove through the small opening the first demi-human had just carved into his tent.
Even as the boots of the dwarf disappeared out of view, a worg's huge head, snapping massive fang-filled jaws, and shoulders bounded into the tent. The beast barreled right into the central pole holding up the tent. It easily tore the tent from its stakes and the whole canvas domicile was ripped up from the ground, entirely entrapping the great lumbering monster-wolf which fell in a writhing mass of fabric and ropes and wooden stakes. Howling and growling and barking in fury to disentangle itself.
Before it had a chance, the hairfoot and the dwarf were upon the creature, stabbing wildly through the canvas with daggers...one of which, the dwarf's, glowed a smoky eerie green energy.
As the blood stains began to soak the remains of the tent and seep out from under it, the two stoutfolk raced off into the night.
"Uh...hunh." Karg murmured blankly.
Karg's eyes followed them and then, dumbly, looked around the camp from his now-exposed bedding.
Disarray was everywhere. There were shouting hobo's and Black Fang goblins arguing. Damned no good Black Fang goblins but 'least they were better than the damned no good hobo's.
Zarx and worgs knocked over water barrels and crashed into other tents as they did battle to determine who would be eating whom. Karg didn't really care not being one of the zarx-riders, himself, just a simple infantry-goblin. Damned no good worgs.
Then a great muscled human with huge feathered wings flew over his head.
Karg's lip twitched to the side a bit. He exhaled a soft "Mm'hm." and then nodded to himself.
The goblin soldier calmly got off the tattered elvin cloaks and tunics that had formed his bedding.
Karg pulled a lump of moldy bread and the maggot-infested remains of an elf's forearm he had been hording out from under his sleeping place.
He collected the "food", a half full skin of bloodwine, and two sacks of elf trinkets he'd buried beneath his sleeping place, accumulated from the battlefield over his almost two months on the front.
Karg tied all of it in a blood-stained elvin cloth at the end of his spear.
He shouldered the weapon, placed his ill-fitted helmet on his mottled green head and silently began the long trudge into the night, south and east, toward his tribe's ancestral territory.
Nope, Karg realized. He had not seen a Bloody Talon goblin in almost two weeks. Maybe they'd all left already and not told Karg. Damned no good Bloody Talon goblins.