TREASURE 3: LOWER DISTRICT
The clash began on Majister's terms.
They were outnumbered, oh yes, but they had the arching portal on their side. Majister and Krull stood abreast just outside of it, on the landing of the staircase instead of inside the receiving hall. This would funnel the frenzied goblins through the portal, perhaps three or four at a time. Little bastards, of course, some might slip by, but this is where Darla, standing behind Majister and Krull, would come in as their skirmisher. With some appropriate zest and her viciously quick daggers, she was sure to keep their flanks and their backsides secure from any goblin harassment.
This was the plan.
It worked.
...Mostly.
Majister and Krull had a
lovely time at the start! A thrust of a rapier here, a chop from an axe there, and the tone was already set. Two dead goblins and first blood most definitely on the handsome side in this quarrel! Gorgeous! The goblins behind them seemed no less frenzied and not a spot perturbed by the untimely slaying of their comrades, beastly runts as they are. Another two were felled at the portal and their bodies did quite little to actually block those behind them.
They scurried over. Jumped over. Leaped at Majister and Krull or scampered around them. Screaming and gibbering and tasting the air with their flailing tongues.
Oh Darla, such enthusiasm! She hides it well, she does, but with the right push at the gambling table or during a raid or when procuring a map (oh how she collects and studies them vigorously!) or, in this case, allowed free rein to stab squat green
monsters such as these with her knives, hmm hmm, does that purring tiger ever come out!
And Krull was not to be discounted, either! An uncharacteristic orc in his speech and mannerisms, his near-perpetual serene calm, his colloquial laid-backness. But, much like Darla, his orcish nature shined in the right situation. Why, the man was a six-and-a-half foot tall mammoth of fearsome battle prowess. See, look there, why don't you! He just smashed a goblin down with his shield and literally caved his skull in with his armored boot! Seems the goblins recognized the true threat, for Krull--in comparison to Majister or Darla--was being positively swarmed by the manic bastards.
And this, being attacked from all sides now, is where their armor came in handy. Goblin spears and knives and stolen swords failed to puncture or slash through the chainmail, let alone the gambesons underneath--at first. Still, the little snots were frantic in their swings and thrusts, and carried a surprising strength powered by their sheer frenzied energy. Damaged and broken links in the mail began to mount, and it was the thick padded armor beneath that held the line here.
The goblins showed a devious cleverness too. In the whirling midst of the battle on the landing, one of the goblins had managed to hop onto Krull's back, unlatch the neckstrap of his helm from behind, pull the helm off of his head, and scurry off with it with neither Majister or Darla being able to help Krull in this troubling matter.
"Watch your backs!" Majister said.
"I'm trying!" Darla said, exasperated and perhaps thinking he'd said "watch
our backs" and thinking herself unfairly blamed. She was busy swiping at a goblin who--much more so than his peers--was exceeding good at dodging.
And then Krull, swamped with three goblins of his own to fight, yelled, "Majister! Kill that one! With the green-tipped spear! It's poisoned!"
Majister pulled his rapier from the skull of a dead goblin, snapped his head to look, and, my, there
was a goblin with a green-tipped spear, just then springboard jumping from the bodies of his fellows stuck in the portal and flying straight for Krull.
One quick thrust froze that malicious grin on the goblin's face forever. The creature was skewered through by Majister's rapier, and the green-tipped spear tumbled from its grip.
Within a minute, the last goblins were slain. Majister, Krull, and Darla stood ringed by disgusting little fetid bodies. And that slobbering runt who'd stolen Krull's helm watched them distantly from inside the receiving hall. He saw that they were victorious and, the helm clutched like some sort of trophy in both hands, went scampering off further into the hall.
"Shit," Darla said. Panting. Exhausted. "One got away."
Majister crouched. Wiped the blood from his rapier on one of the goblin bodies. Said, "Ah, yes, so he has. A wonderful development, is it not? I was beginning to fear that we might not have an appropriate challenge for so esteemed an item. A dreary disappointment should we acquire it with nary a struggle, wouldn't you say?"
Krull glanced back. Noticed something. "Darla."
"Yeah?"
"Your healing potion is gone."
Darla patted at her belt. Swore. And her cheeks puffed out in a flustered way. "Well...so's your helm, what do you think about that?"
Krull just smiled. "I shall now hear clearly."
"Well," Majister said, rising to his feet, "fine work to the both of you! But I say that the
Bammaram isn't going the loot itself! Now then! Perhaps, if we should be so lucky, that slimy little ne'er-do-well's dirty footprints might point us the correct direction to our destination! And I'm here to tell you that we will liberate this mighty artifact from the clutches of him and his ilk! Onward!"
And Majister, Darla, and Krull re-entered the receiving hall and started on the way into the Lower District proper.