Luckily for Kre, the green brutes were unaware of their opponent’s skill… or lack thereof. Because of this, they moved hesitatingly and awkwardly, testing and probing with their own makeshift weapons. Kre thought that perhaps the presence of the tyrfang was another factor in the goblin’s unease in attacking him fully. Not that he was complaining.
The sounds of fevered battle were still audible behind him, leading him to believe that his companions were still engaged in their own melees. Which meant, thankfully, that they were still alive. “Where are the others?” he called out, partially hoping to inspire more caution in his opponents if they believed reinforcements to be coming and partially to bolster his own confidence.
Neither Beleg nor Ras answered. That alone didn’t come as a shock to Kre. He figured that the two of them would be far too busy to make polite conversation. An inhuman scream sounded behind him, and judging by the guttural pitch of it, it was neither of his friends. The three foes he faced glanced at each other, as if sensing that the battle was not going their way. Despite that that, they seemed just as resolved to end the life of the tiny little creature in front of them, if not more so.
The one creature to his right suddenly lunged forward and thrust its gnarled, clawed hands out to grab at Kre’s sword arm. The other creature opposite moved in low, almost on all fours, causing Kre to backpedal quickly or risk having his legs entangled by more than just loose pants. The last creature stepped back and raised its improvised club menacingly, as if readying itself for a powerful downward blow once its colleagues had made the target immobile and defenseless.
Though Kre had dodged the one creature attacking his legs, the other had managed to get hold of Kre’s wrist. It was surprisingly strong, given its wiry frame, and its skin felt as cold as the bottom of an icy river, almost to the point of burning. Only adrenaline and fear allowed Kre to maintain his grip on his blade given the initial shock at the creature’s touch.
The creature hissed loudly, spittle and foul odors escaping its maw crowded with yellowed teeth of various shapes and pointing in odd directions. The smell alone was almost enough to make Kre gag, but what really did it was the sudden appearance of a feathered shaft in the creature’s forehead.
Suddenly lifeless, the goblin’s grip on Kre’s arm slackened and was soon gone entirely as it fell to the ground. Another two arrows, each with different colored feathers, seemed to blossom from the leg-grabbing goblin to Kre’s left. Neither was an immediate kill shot as the first had been, so the goblin screamed out in pain and grabbed frantically at its wounds, trying to stem the loss of its lifeblood as much as possible.
The last of the three foes facing Kre looked extremely distressed, though it still had its weapon raised up over its head. A quick look about the field of battle and the club fell from its fingers to land behind it with a loud thump. It spat out something guttural and rhythmic sounding, but Kre did not understand any of it if it was in fact some sort of speech. Despite the language barrier, Kre did understand the idea of the creature dropping to its knees and placing its hands up in the air.