Tales of Gandamyr
Leif looked down upon the lifeless kneeling creature before him and then at his short swords, each driven down on either side of its neck to their hilts.
His wounds dripped onto the wood floor mixing red into the pool of foul black hobgoblin blood.
His eyes blurred as he breathed deeply. Time seemed to slow with each heavy beat of his heart.
Sweat gathered on his brow and cheeks and ran down them leaving light vertical streaks in the dark ash that coated his skin.
“You cannot fall yet,” he thought to himself.
“There are so many more waiting in the streets.”
“They’re waiting for death by your hands, your swords, your arrows.”
“Your enemy is here, now! The time for vengeance is here, now!”
Placing his boot on the hobgoblin’s leg he removed each of the short swords and left the body leaning forward, locked in death’s embrace.
He heard the sounds of screaming and clashing steel outside.
His body seemed to wither for a moment.
Blood continued to drip into the pool below him.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
The shouts of his companions continued just beyond the door.
The screeches of goblins and other wretched foes grew louder.
Leif continued to breathe deeply. His hands tightened their grip.
He wiped the blood from each blade onto the shoulders of the dead hobgoblin and sheathed them.
He reached for his long bow and felt strength return with it in his hand.
“I will bring ruin down upon you and your kin in the mountains,” he spoke softly in Elvish.
“I will topple every peak and heft the great weight of every mile of stone down to crush and destroy the curse of goblin kind.”
“I am coming for you all…”
Leif turned to face the door and regained focus.
He pushed the door open and stepped outside.
The still wet black and red blood on his studded leather armor shined in the light of day.
He drew back an arrow, winced from the pain of his wounds, and rejoined the fight.