Early Morning, just after dawn.
Way's Day
19th of Avril, Year 824 of the Silent Age
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PROJO'S QUEST LOG:
+ [ACTIVE] Eliminate the Goblin Chief from the Lumina Grotto
+ [ONGOING] Learn More About My Strange Powers from Falira
+ Repay Bram (Owe 24 Gold)
+ Return to Mira
PROJO'S INVENTORY:
+ Money: 6 Gold, 6 Silver, 27 Copper
+ Weapons: Iron Longsword, Iron Dagger
+ Armor: Crude Leather Cuirass
+ Supplies:
- 1 Day's Worth of Trail Rations
- Flint & Steel
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Projo awoke on the cold stone floor, shoulders aching. The tower was quiet, the cauldron's boil reduced to a soft simmer. Pale grey light filtered through the high windows, dust drifting in the still air. The three ward-crystals that had formed his cage now appeared inert.
Falira was already at a workbench, methodically cleaning Gideon's crossbow with bolts lined neatly beside it. Without looking up, she said flatly, "There's water in the basin. And bread on the counter. Eat."
When she turned, the dark smudges under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, though her voice was all business. "We need to go over the plan."
Projo retrieved a piece of bread and asked with a frown, "Did you even sleep?"
Her hands stilled for a moment. "Sleep is a resource. Preparation outweighed rest." A flicker of last night's fear crossed her face before she buried it again.
"But that is irrelevant now," she continued briskly. "What is relevant is this."
She picked up the heavy crossbow. "I am proficient with this weapon. You are not. Therefore, I will take the rear position and provide ranged support."
"I thought you were a mage," Projo said skeptically.
She glared at him. "I am a student of the arcane arts. I know some combat spells but they would quickly deplete my Mana."
He shrugged, tied on his swordbelt, slid Gideon's dagger into place, and followed her out of the tower. Together they set off toward the goblin caves.
The three-kilometer journey north was nearly silent. The cliffside path clung to rock and shale, the sea roaring below in a constant crash of grey waves. Falira led with her crossbow low, eyes scanning every angle. Projo kept close, hands ready to draw a blade at a moment's notice.
An hour later, the trail descended into a small, rocky cove. A foul smell hung in the air—a mix of woodsmoke, rot, and something acrid and musky that turned the stomach. At the back of the cove was the cave entrance: wide as a wagon, its mouth littered with gnawed bones, driftwood totems, and a greasy curl of smoke from somewhere deep within.
Falira crouched behind a boulder, sighting down her crossbow. "This is it. Goblins are ambush predators. They favor choke points and high ground. The approach is as dangerous as the nest itself."
She glanced back at him. "Stay sharp."
Projo drew his longsword and advanced. Every crunch of bone and shell underfoot echoed too loud in the stillness. The stench grew thicker near the maw, damp air breathing out rot and stone.
Twenty feet from the entrance, his eyes caught it.
A thin, almost invisible line of twisted guts stretched between two jagged rocks, barely an inch off the ground. Tied to it were a string of bleached bird skulls and chipped seashells. A crude alarm.
He slowed, his body tensing, then carefully lifted a foot to step over the tripwire—
A shriek erupted from above.
Projo's head snapped up as a wiry goblin launched from a ledge, skin the color of mossy stone and face full of snarling teeth. It brandished a crude spear tipped with a jagged shard of flint.
As the goblin landed in a crouch, Projo swung hard, and the blade struck its shoulder with a wet crack of breaking bone. The creature was thrown sideways—it slammed into the rock face and slid down in a heap.
Before he could even register the kill, another goblin scrambled from the cave waving a large rusty fish-hook tied to a length of driftwood.
THWACK!
A crossbow bolt slammed into the second goblin's thigh, punching clean through the skinny limb. The creature let out a high-pitched squeal, stumbling and clutching at its leg.
Projo closed the distance, thrusting his longsword's point into the goblin's chest. The creature's eyes went wide before a gurgling sigh escaped its lips, and Projo yanked the blade free.
Silence fell, broken only by the sea and Projo's own heavy breathing. He stood over the two small corpses, the adrenaline singing in his veins.
The crunch of boots on shale announced Falira's approach, the heavy crossbow already being reloaded. Her eyes were alight with a sharp intensity. She regarded Projo like a researcher noting a result.
"Two sentries," she said. "Poorly armed, positioned with a clear line of sight but no mutual support."
Projo nodded to her. "Their perimeter is weak."
She finished loading the crossbow and a faint grin touched her lips. "Good. The real test is inside."
Projo scanned the deep shadows within the cave mouth, then took a slow step onto the threshold, Falira a few paces behind him. The air grew instantly colder, thick with the damp, musky stench of the goblins and the underlying mineral scent of the earth.
He turned his head slightly, his voice barely audible over the distant waves. "What spells did you say you're packing?"
Falira didn't answer immediately. He heard a soft schlick as she pressed into the cave wall's shadow. When she spoke, her whisper was right behind his ear.
"I have prepared a standard utility loadout for subterranean reconnaissance," she murmured. "Nothing that will level the cave, so don't get any heroic ideas."
Her tone was even, but it carried just a hint of condescension.
"My Mana is limited, I will not waste it on trivial encounters. I will deploy these assets as I see fit. Your job is the blade—focus on that."
Projo nodded and continued onward, his longsword low, tip barely scraping the stone floor.
The narrow passage began to widen, the darkness ahead giving way to a flickering orange light. The stench of goblin intensified, mixed with the greasy smell of poorly cooked meat. He could hear their chittering voices now, high-pitched and guttural, echoing off the walls of a larger chamber.
He flattened himself against the wall just before the passage opened up, holding up a hand to halt Falira, then peered cautiously around the corner.
The pathway opened into a medium-sized cavern, lit by a sputtering cook-fire in the center.
Stalagmites dotted the floor like jagged teeth. Four goblins were present. Two were squabbling over a half-cooked seagull on a spit. A third, larger goblin with a crude club made from a ship's timber, was kicking at them idly.
The fourth was harder to spot—a smaller, quicker-looking creature perched behind a large stalagmite on the far side of the chamber with a simple leather sling in its hands.
Falira moved up beside him.
"Four," she whispered, her breath cool against his ear. "The slinger on the right is the primary threat. He'll pin you down. The bully with the club is the secondary. The two grunts are fodder."
"So I rush the slinger?" Projo whispered back.
"No. You'll be exposed. We create a breach. On my mark."
He felt her shift behind him and breathe the word, "Lumin."
A small sphere of cool, white light bloomed in the air between them, brighter than a torch.
"Now," Falira hissed.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the orb sailing out into the center of the cavern, overwhelming the firelight.
The goblins shrieked in surprise and rage, shielding their sensitive eyes. The two by the fire stumbled back, momentarily blinded. The larger bully screamed, raising his club. The slinger, his cover illuminated, ducked lower behind his rock.
"Go!" Falira commanded. "Bully first!"
Projo exploded from the passage, charging at the large goblin who was still blinking in the sudden light.
The creature roared and brought its massive club around in a wide, clumsy arc.
Projo ducked under it easily, the wind of its passage whistling over his head. He drove his shoulder into the goblin's gut, then brought the pommel of his longsword up hard under its jaw with a sickening crack.
The bully staggered back, dazed.
From the corner of his eye, Projo saw the slinger pop up from behind the stalagmite.
Twang!
A rock whizzed past Projo's head, striking the cavern wall with a sharp clack.
"Aegis Minor!" Falira's voice rang out.
A shimmering, barely visible disc of energy materialized in the air just in front of her.
Twang!
The slinger's second shot struck the barrier and shattered into dust, the Aegis dissipating with a soft chime.
The bully raised its club again.
But Projo was already moving, his longsword a blur. He sidestepped the goblin's clumsy recovery and thrust the blade deep into its side.
The goblin let out a cry of agony and collapsed.
The two grunts charged with crude spears and Projo yanked his sword free, turning to meet them.
"Fus!" Falira commanded.
A wave of invisible energy blasted the goblin on the left, sending it tumbling backward onto the cook-fire with a yelp of pain and a shower of embers.
The right-hand goblin hesitated for a fatal second.
Projo took the opening, cleaving down through the goblin's collarbone. It dropped without a sound.
The slinger, now alone, let out a terrified squeak. It dropped its sling and scrambled for a narrow fissure in the back of the cavern wall.
THWACK!
Falira's crossbow bolt took it in the back of the neck. It pitched forward and lay still.
The cavern fell quiet except for the pained whimpers of the goblin sizzling in the fire.
Falira stepped out from the passage, reloading her crossbow.
"Threats neutralized," she stated, looking at Projo.
There was no praise in her eyes, only observation. "Your reaction time is adequate. Your technique is... crude, but effective against undisciplined opponents."
She gestured toward the whimpering goblin in the fire. "Finish that one."
Projo did as she told him, then turned and gestured to her crossbow. "You're not half bad with that thing."
All she said in response was, "Hm," not even looking at him.
"We make a decent team," he tried. "Or… you do, at least. I'd probably be dead without you here."
"Don't be sentimental," she responded flatly. "This is an efficient division of labor. My tactical support is the variable that ensures the primary offensive agent—you—remains functional."
Her eyes were sharp and devoid of any warmth. "Your assessment of your solo survival odds was accurate, however. Now focus."
She nodded toward the dark fissure the slinger had tried to flee into. "The main nest will be more heavily guarded."
Projo moved deeper into the cave. Despite her order, he muttered, "Ever notice how clinically you look at things? 'Efficient. Functional. Assessment.' I was a blacksmith's apprentice for fifteen years and I'm not referring to everything by 'how tempered it is,' or 'how they've been forged like steel.'"
"And yet you swing a longsword like a sledgehammer."
Projo flinched.
He had no response.
They pressed on, the air growing dense and stale. The roar of the sea faded behind them, replaced by the faint, chittering echo of a much larger group of goblins somewhere in the oppressive dark ahead.
The orb of Lumin drifted before them, its clean light fighting with the gloom and casting long, dancing shadows that made the walls seem to writhe.
"Single file," Falira whispered. "Don't make a sound."
The narrow fissure twisted for another fifteen meters before opening abruptly, like a throat into a stomach.
The space was immense; the ceiling lost in darkness far above. A wide, stinking chasm split the cavern floor, spanned by two rickety-looking rope bridges. The air was thick with the foul, greasy smoke from a dozen sputtering fires, and the chittering echoes they'd been following resolved into the din of a small goblin horde.
There had to be at least twenty of them.
Most were on the far side of the chasm, a chaotic swarm of moss-green bodies armed with crude spears and rusty blades. On a high ledge to the left, two goblin archers nocked arrows to makeshift bows. On the right, another perched with a sling.
At the very back, on a raised platform dominated by a throne made from the splintered remains of a ship's figurehead, sat the chief. He was exactly as Vane had described: a fat, bloated creature with a necklace of small, yellowed bones. A massive, rust-pitted cleaver rested across his lap.
A goblin sentry, squatting near the far end of the closest bridge, spotted them. It let out a piercing shriek, pointing a clawed finger. In an instant, the entire cavern erupted into a cacophony of war cries.
"Choke point!" Falira snapped. "Hold them at the fissure!"
There was no time to think—half a dozen grunts scrambled onto the nearest bridge, their weight making it sway violently. Projo rushed forward and swung low, a cleaving blow that cut clean through one of the ropes holding up the bridge.
It shifted to one side, causing one of the goblins in the middle to lose its balance and fall down into the dark.
Projo raised his blade high, bringing it down on the other support like he was splitting firewood.
CRACK!
The other rope snapped backward with the releasing tension, whipping one of the goblins in the face just before the entire bridge plummeted.
Now there was only one bridge to get across.
TWANG!
An arrow hissed past his ear, sparking off the stone wall beside him.
"Archers, left ledge!" Falira's voice commanded from behind. "Aegis Minor!"
A shimmering shield bloomed around Projo as he began backstepping. An arrow collided a second later, shattering against the barrier.
"Thanks!" He yelled out as he got back to her. He raised his longsword and planted his feet at the mouth of the passage, the stone walls protecting his flanks.
A new wave of little green monsters was surging across the remaining bridge.
The first goblin came off in a rush, spear leveled. Projo batted the flimsy weapon aside with a heavy clang and brought the pommel of his sword up into the creature's face with a wet crunch. The second tried to dart around him, but Projo's foot shot out, catching it in the knee. As it stumbled, he brought the longsword down in a ferocious chop that nearly took its head off.
Another arrow zipped by his head, but then—
THWACK!
High on the left ledge, one of the archers let out a choked cry and tilted forward as Falira's crossbow bolt sent it tumbling into the chasm below.
"The other archer!" Projo roared, ducking under a wild spear thrust from a recovering goblin.
"I see it!" she snapped back. "Fus!"
A wave of power slammed into the rock face just below the second archer's perch. A cascade of loose shale and rock showered down, causing the goblin to yelp and lose its footing. It barely held on, but was temporarily not a threat.
Projo saw two more goblins coming at him, snarling with hate. He met them with a horizontal swing, a sledgehammer blow that sent them both reeling back, one clutching a shattered arm.
The goblins were a tide of snarling, wiry bodies, and Projo was the stone they were breaking against. He fought with the tireless arms of a blacksmith; he was a machine for breaking things, and the goblins were poorly made. He kicked, punched, swung—his blade cleaving through cheap leather and soft flesh.
When the last of the second wave lay dead or dying at his feet, he risked a glance back.
Falira was methodically reloading, her face focused. The orb of Lumin hovered near the ceiling, casting a harsh light over the carnage.
"Don't let up!" she yelled. "Push across before the archer gets a clear shot!"
Projo charged onto the bridge, the ropes groaning under his weight. On the other side, two larger goblins, clad in scraps of rusted metal, moved to intercept him, their heavy axes held ready.
The fat chief was on his feet now, bellowing orders.
An axe swung for Projo's head, but he brought his sword up in a quick, reflexive block that sent a jarring shock through his entire body. He was driven back a step, the sheer force of the blow staggering him.
The second brute moved to flank him, but a crossbow bolt slammed into its thigh, causing it to roar and stumble.
Projo ignored the injured brute and focused on the first, driving his foot into its gut and swinging his longsword with all his might. The blade bit deep into the creature's neck, and it collapsed in a gurgling heap.
Projo spun, his sword a blur, and plunged it into the chest of the injured, roaring brute.
Now all that was left was the slinger, the last archer, and the leader.
The chief let out a roar of fury and charged from his platform, massive cleaver held high.
Projo met the charge head-on, and their blades met with a deafening shriek of protesting metal. The chief was strong, his sheer mass driving Projo back, but he was slow and clumsy.
Projo gave ground, letting the chief overextend in a wild swing, then darted in, his new dagger flashing from its sheath. He drove the blade deep into the chief's thick thigh.
The fat goblin bellowed in pain, his leg buckling. The cleaver wavered.
It was the only opening Projo would get.
He dropped the dagger and gripped his longsword with both hands, putting every ounce of his strength into a horizontal swing.
The blade cut clean through the goblin's thick neck. The head tumbled from its shoulders and rolled to a stop in a pile of fish bones.
The entire cavern fell silent.
The remaining archer and slinger, their chief now dead, stared for a beat, then dropped their weapons and fled into the darkness of the deeper tunnels.
Projo stood still, chest heaving, sword held low with both hands. He was covered in sweat and splattered with green-black blood. The cavern was a gore house, the air thick with the stench of death.
Falira walked toward him, crossbow lowered, analytical gaze sweeping across the field of bodies. She stopped before the headless corpse of the chief, then looked at Projo.
"Note," she said, her voice unnervingly calm. "Subject exhibits heightened combat effectiveness and tactical adaptability under sustained, high-stress conditions."
She gave him a clinical, appraising look. "The sledgehammer is learning."