The Ranger's Game [Solo]

[Sao Ilroc]

The moon rose quiet over Arask Pass that night, pale silver playing across the rocky nightscape, its gentle tendrils caressing rock and blood alike. In the canyon, an outsider strolled – hunched over just slightly and walking with a limp, it would appear to the layman that this man was injured. A torn, crimson cloak with frayed and charred edges trailed behind him, gaping tears in the rough leather like eyes in the midnight sun. In his right hand, a weakly-gripped longsword dragged a kiltering line behind him, zig-zagging to and fro while leading to an inert body laying in the dust of the canyon some sixty paces behind the man. It looked like an ambush had gone wrong.

If any other human travelers were there at this point in time, they might see a dark, hunching shape behind a rock some dozen paces before the man – thick, scaly green skin gleaming darkly through the shadows. Hiding is a goblin specialty. This hypothetical other traveler might also hear a quiet grunt as this hidden figure peered over the top of the rock, watching the injured man's approach – such a human might even cry a warning if so inclined, but it would probably come too late.

The goblin, larger than his brothers and clad in armor woven of bone and leather, launches himself over the rock with an ear-splitting screech. Mouth open, tusks burning unholy rage under the watchful eye of the night sky above and with a spiked femur swinging overhead, this particular goblin (whose name is Guhrraht, by the way) looks to be claiming the night's fool. Even as the ghastly creature is catapulted through the air and approaches the injured man with a potentially devastating blow, Gryphon (the traveler) seems to take no notice.

Until the goblin is within arm's reach. The ragged ranger drops to one knee, snapping his simple sword to attention – within the span of a heartbeat, the goblin is impaled on that rusted, pitted blade. The femur mace drops from unfeeling fingers into the dust, the green beast's eyes widen in surprise while a rolling gurgle spills itself from the depths of that gruesome maw. Then it is dead, and Gryphon gets to his feet to allow the corpse to settle upon the ground.

That one was bigger than the rest - the ranger muses, looking over the tangled corpse. Armor? I didn't think these were sophisticated enough for that.. Startled quite suddenly from his thoughts, Sao Ilroc looks up sharply at the sound of more screeches ahead.

Three more goblins, previously hidden in the dark recesses of a fissure nearby, had seen the demise of their brother. Enraged, they stream out from the crack in the canyon wall with death in their eyes and on their tongues. Two wave clubs and the third waves a stubby, rusty short sword though none wear armor or the scars and warpaint of the freshly killed. To a bystander, it would appear that this ranger's game is finished.

[Sao Ilroc]

Without time to turn and run, the man simply reacts. Kneeling briefly to take up the spiked femur in his left hand, the tattered figure lunges at the first goblin, swinging the worn longsword without effect. This first, named Kartkur, ducks the clumsy blow and sidesteps to the left, extending his club to smash into Ilroc's pelvic bone as he sails past. The blow connects with withering effect, the sickening crunch of bone splintering echoing through the narrow canyon. Mingled with the senseless screeches put forth by the goblin trio, this cacophony reverberates into the man's ears even as his legs turn to rubber and he stumbles to the ground with a cry. White-hot pain arcs through his lower body, clearing his mind of everything but the spine-twisting pain involved in having a club snap your pelvis in half.

A moment of blackness passes when he becomes aware of something pounding on his chest, the war cries replaced now with feverish grunts and the occasional cackling screech – this time mingled with the hollow thump of wood on iron. His eyes open to the sight of now five goblins leaning over him with grins on their nightmarish faces. Tusks glimmering darkly, beady eyes lit as brightly as the moon; Ilroc assumes they're put off by his impolite gestures. Six of their kin lie dead along the canyon floor. Suppose this is it, suppose they'll eat me..

His vision fades into blackness again, a night darker and deeper than any ever had by nature.


***

Years had passed since he'd been anywhere near there. He'd gone back to his desert home after his partners left – the greedy traitors were of that failed venture, of that he could not deny. He'd let himself be blinded by idealism, happy to have any help in his self-assigned task. It could have worked, too. The Bandit Brotherhood was a blight on the face of those verdant forests. Projects, Incorporated was the forests' solution.

In the desert, he found nothing. Oh, there were scorpions and vultures and other vile abominations – but there were no people. The last had been slaughtered when his family was, when soldiers marauding as officials and bureaucrats moved through. What little food there was to be had in the desert was seized by some barony – which barony didn't matter to the young man then – to provide for “protective garrisons” along the desert's edge. There was nothing to protect in that wasteland, save the bureaucrats' harems and the mills distilling a potent desert liquor to be exported to their masters' castles. Such sweeping, grandiose castles – fueled by greed and a shaman's ritual hallucinogen. The memory burned hot in Gryphon's mind, drove him to madness when he slept.

And so he had left the desert, before his kinsmen were driven to cannibalism by desperation. Slipping past the garrisons, evading the slave-hunters that roved the dunes, escaping to a memory. His father had been to Concordia once, on some old trading expedition – the same expedition that had brought these thieving scum to the desert. Gryphon grew up hearing tales of the vaunted forest and of that hallowed land. He didn't know where it was, but it was all he knew of beyond the desert. And so he went, into oblivion and with only the ragged clothes on his back.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.