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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4733900" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 17Beetle wasn’t preoccupied with guards or complex plans when he vaulted up atop the balcony and went through the door at its end.  Had he taken the time to consider the implications of his actions, he might have thought better of heading alone into a complex of deadly slavers, but the halfling wasn’t one to get bogged down with such considerations.  If it was exciting, and dangerous, and maybe offered the chance of reward, that was enough.   To be honest, there was a bit of resentment at work too; he was still a bit angry with his cousin for taking away his magic bag.  That boon, found in a cramped crawlspace in the dungeon under the Keep on the Shadowfell, had proven a delightful find, offering a solution to the frequent dilemma of insufficient pocket space to accommodate all of the wonderful things that he came upon in his travels.  But now he’d show Jaron and all of them, by dealing with these slavers personally.  He heard voices as soon as he opened the balcony door, and almost unconsciously blended into the shadows, making as much noise as a soft puff of wind as he slipped through and closed the door behind him.  The passageway beyond the door opened onto a stair that descended into a room.  He crawled up to where he could get a good look.  The room wasn’t especially large, and rather crowded with the crude pieces of furniture that filled it.  There was another exit on the far side of the room, but Beetle’s eyes were drawn to the room’s occupants, two big and rather ugly goblins, clad in metal armor, with axes thrust through their belts and bows slung across their backs.  One was sitting on a small cot, sharpening a knife, while the other was seated on a stool in front of a table, gnawing on some bones had already been well stripped of meat.  A small iron brazier on a three-pronged stand provided heat and a weak, ruddy light.  It was just enough for Beetle to make out the hulking mound atop another of the beds, a form far too big to be another goblin.  As he watched, it shifted slightly, and issued a fragment of a snore.  The goblin sitting on the other cot said something, but unlike his cousin, Beetle did not speak the Goblin language, so he had no idea what he said.  The other one snorted and responded, tossing his bone aside and yanking another from the pile heaped on the plate in front of him. Beetle let out a soft breath.  This was going to be tricky. “How long do we wait?” Gezzelhaupt asked.  He was trying to keep his hands busy, testing his bowstring, adjusting the arrows in the quiver at his hip, fidgeting until Vhael shot him a hard look that quieted him.  He had reason to be nervous, Jaron thought; he’d watched his comrades get slaughtered, and it was likely that what awaited them behind the door was at least as dangerous as a wyvern.  How many goblinoids waited beyond those portals?  From everything he’d heard, from Rendil and the others in the Hall, these Bloodreavers were not a trivial force. And yet here he was, planning on taking them on directly.  Was Yarine even still alive?  He had no idea of the priestess or the others from Fairhollow lived, or if the Bloodreavers still held them captive.  But there was nothing else he could do.  Still, the passage of the seconds seemed to build the tension in his gut like bricks stacked one upon the other.  He held his own bow ready, standing in the shadow of the dragonborn warlord, who stood facing the doors, outwardly patient, a statue that might still be here hours, days, or even years from now, unaffected by such mortal concerns as fear and worry. When all hell broke loose a moment later, they heard it clearly even through the doors. The first indication that the goblins had that something was wrong was a soft snick, a noise like a sharp blade being stropped on leather.  The goblin at the table turned, looked at the bugbear warrior asleep on his pallet.  He started to turn back to his bones, but something subtle that couldn’t quite be defined froze his stare, drew his attention back.  The bugbear wasn’t moving, but a faint hissing noise came from him.  Then the goblin’s eyes dropped, to the thread of fluid draining from the bottom of the cot, gathering in a spreading pool of red upon the floor.  His eyes widened, but before he could do anything further, a small figure sprang up from behind the cot.  The goblin’s surprised stare was drawn to the bare steel of the blade in the intruder’s hand, glistening with bright red blood…The goblin tumbled back from the table, clutching at his axe.  The chair fell over as he pulled free, making a loud noise as it hit the floor.  The creature—smaller even than a goblin, he realized—let out an odd noise and flicked his hand forward.  The goblin started to duck before he realized that the attack wasn’t aimed at him. The goblin on the bed had only started to realize that something was wrong, and as his head turned the thrown knife drew a line of bright red across his forehead, scoring it to the bone.  He drew back, almost tumbling off of the cot, clutching his face as blood spurted down into his eyes.  The attacker had gained complete surprise, but the goblin was a Skullcleaver, no common, inexperienced warrior sealed into a burrow to earn his first kill.  He’d been caught off guard, but as his axe finally tore free and came into his hands he started yelling an alarm, drawing the attention of the pair of guards in the hallway outside.  As the intruder started toward his injured companion on the nearby cot, the goblin lifted his axe and snarled a challenge.  Unfortunately, he failed to notice the throng that had been strung between the table and the brazier, and with his first step he snagged it.  He fell awkwardly forward, his momentum knocking the brazier wildly aside, scattering its contents across half of the room.  A shower of sparking ash filled the air. The Skullcleaver felt a jab of pain as a burning coal settled on the back of his right knee.  He snarled and pulled himself to his feet, trying to sift through the chaos that surrounded him.  He could hear his companion yelling, and staggered forward, not quite clear what was happening until he was almost right on top of the battle.  The small invader was lunging at the other goblin with another knife, moving with incredible speed, not giving the dazed Skullcleaver a chance to recover.  Blood was splattered all over the cot and the adjacent crates of supplies, and it continued to flicker about in fat drops as the little demon’s knife darted in and out.  The goblin followed his instincts, and attacked.  His axe sliced toward the intruder’s head, but at the last instant the little bastard ducked, and the sharp blade only clove through cloth.  The enemy fell back against the wall, and the cowl of his cloak fell back, to reveal…A halfling. “You little bastard!” the goblin cursed, coming forward to attack again before the fast little bugger could move away.  The halfling seemed frozen, but as the Skullcleaver committed to his attack he countered with a sudden lunge, coming in low under the goblin’s swing.  The Skullcleaver grunted as the halfling’s knife cut into his knee; the wound wasn’t serious, not through the thick leather leggings he wore, but it knocked him off balance, and he caromed off the wall and fell to the floor.  The goblin cursed and tried to get up before the halfling could slit his throat. But the enemy assassin’s position was growing more precarious by the second.  The other Skullcleaver had finally recovered his axe, and the two door guards had arrived, adding their numbers to the battle and shifting the odds decisively in the favor of the defenders.  The halfling seemed to realize this, for instead of attacking he sprang up into the air, bouncing off the cot and then up onto the stack of crates.  Even as the wounded Skullcleaver, still half blind from the blood smeared across his face, crushed the end of one of the crates with his axe, the halfling jumped again, landing halfway up the stairs that led up to the corridor above.  He’d barely gotten his balance when he lifted his cloak and thrust his buttocks boldly in the direction of the goblins.  Then he ran up the stairs, the goblins not far behind.  Behind them, the room was slowly filling with smoke as the burning coals from the fallen brazier fueled small fires here and there.  The halfling was faster than the goblins, and he might have gotten away.  But as he sprang up the last few steps, he couldn’t resist a last rude gesture toward the goblins, one that transcended the limitations of language.  Thus he didn’t see the dark figure that stepped into view at the top of the steps, or the heavy hammer that he lifted.  He turned back just in time to take the blow squarely in the chest.  It knocked him back roughly, reversing his momentum and flipping him heels over head as he was flung off the stairs and fell into the smoky chaos below.  “Take him alive, if you can,” the duergar snorted.</blockquote>

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