Blades in the Dark.

An uneasy nervousness settled over the three companions as they waited for nightfall to approach, few words were shared after the plan was agreed upon. There were three targets that needed to be eliminated in order to rout the goblins; the Chieftain, the Black Hob, and the Shaman, and it was agreed Elariel would take on the Shaman, being the only one who could use magic to counter it's spells. Gawain would take on the Black Hob, if he couldn't kill it himself he would need to hold out long enough until Elariel or Peter could come to help him in his fight, and Peter would take on the Chieftain. Arguably the easiest of the tasks was Peters, the Chieftain was old and frail, leading the Goblins as a force of unity, not strength, and whilst Gawain and Elariel went about their tasks the distraction should make it easier for him to sneak into the camp.

Elariel would help them sneak in, Gawain would wait until the sounds of Elariels battle with the Shaman could be heard then he would attack them from the ensuing chaos, providing cover for Peter. It was a good plan they thought, the best they could come up with at the very least.

***

It was Elariel who woke the two warriors from their slumber in the early hours of the night, the three of them readying their gear, oiling their weapons, tightening their armour, all in silence, mentally preparing themselves for what was to come.

Soon, they set out, creeping along the forest floor spread apart in a wide formation with Elariel in the lead, dispersing their silhouette as much as possible. Hours seemed to drag by before the glow of torches and fire pits could be seen in the distance through the shrubbery.

The camp was moderately sized, surprising both Gawain and Peter. Two dozen tipi's were scattered in loose rings around a roaring bonfire, each smaller ring of tipi's surrounding a smaller but still quite large firepit, at the far side of the camp was a large yurt which the trio surmised would house the Chieftain and the Shaman. A poorly constructed palisade and ditch surrounded the semi-permanent camp, guarded by the dozen or so Hobgoblins in stolen chainmail armour, but even in the darkness the Black Hob stood out. It stood watch by the fire, skin the colour of the night sky, yellow eyes scanning the camp as it walked between the campfires in its stolen, but well maintained half-plate, a vicious spiked maul hanging from its hip. It's hair was a silver colour, and pulled into a long braid that ran between its shoulder blades, the same silver hair framed its face in a unusually well maintained beard. Finally, two long pointed black ears stuck out from the sides of its head like the rest of its kin, but the Black Hobs ears were pierced with numerous rings and piercings, as was its face, gold, silver, steel, no doubt all victories from foes it had defeated. Perhaps the most terrifying thing was that it was the largest Goblinoid that the two young men had ever seen, dwarfing both of them and standing an easy 7ft tall, matching male orc warriors, so do did its muscular scarred body.

It seemed the rest of the camp was asleep.

"Are you sure you can fight that, my lord?" Peter whispered, but before Gawain could answer Elariel waved them quiet, ushering them on with her as they moved silently to the rear of the camp, scanning for a gap in the palisade.

They soon came upon their opening, a small gap where the stakes met the ground had formed, likely from the attentions of a small animal. They waited, one moment, two, then three as the Hobgoblin guard passed them by before slipping in as quietly as possible, sharing a nod as they each separated to pursue their own objectives. Elariel and Peter slipping off towards the large tent close to the rear of the camp, Gawain padding towards the front gates where the Black Hob waited.

The minutes dragged on as Gawain waited, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his head as he flexed his fingers over his bastard sword, longer and longer he waited on, watching as the Black Hob approached the gate, speaking in its guttural tongue to its two subordinates who nodded in agreement.

Then, just as the Black Hob turned to make his was back to the main tent an eruption of screams burst across the camp, emanating from behind the cloth tarps, one of utter rage.

Taking his queue, Gawain sprang forward from the shadows, drawing his blade in a smooth slash that cleaved one of the guards heads clean off, black blade spraying across his compatriots armour. As quick as he could, he followed through with his momentum throwing himself into a lunging thrust the brought the tip of his blade forward faster than the shocked Hobgoblin could react, his neck skewered, his black life essence oozing out over his rusted chainmail plate as he crumpled back.

Gawain spun, wasting no time and charged for the Black Hob, who stared at him with an unamused sneer. It shouted something in its harsh throaty language before hefting its spiked maul over its head, eyes fixed on the rapidly advancing knight.

Gawain moved to slash, but the Black Hob beat him to it, bringing the maul down with a resounding boom as the ground exploded around the impact point, Gawain just barely managing to change trajectory and dodge to the right. Coming out of a roll past a firepit in a ring of tents two Goblins appeared, tiny things that barely came up to his elbows, but all the same armed with vicious looking daggers that swiped at him.

Quickly falling into a parry Gawain deftly swiped the short blade away, cleaving a gaping wound across the first goblins chest, felling it quickly before sidestepping the seconds blade, lopping its arm off with ease sending black blood and green flesh flying through the air.

Breathing heavily Gawain spun around, trying to gain ground in this fight, he knew that unless Elariel or Peter finished off their job quickly he would be alone surrounded by goblins.

But he was given no time to think.

As he turned a large black fist connected with his face, the taste of iron blood filled his mouth, and a sense of weightlessness enveloped him as he was suddenly flung through the air, crashing into a nearby tent. A half dozen goblins started screaming and writhing around underneath him, poking at his armour with daggers and spears in a futile attempt to kill him.

Dazed, winded, Gawain rose as fast as he could, barely bringing his blade up in time to block a vicious attack from the Black Hobs' spiked maul. Once again Gawain was sent flying, the strength of the beast too much for even him to bear.

His back crashed into the palisade, knocking the wind out of him as he coughed blood onto his brigandine.

"Gods..." he muttered as he rose, the beast taking angry, powerful steps towards him as it slowly broke into a run, maul rising behind it.

'This is it...' he thought to himself. _'I was too cocky... this is where I die' _He picked up his blade, closing his eyes and holding up a hand as he waited for death.

The booming steps, and thunderous roar drowned out all other noise, doom approaching.

His heart settled, his mind cleared, and with a shallow exhale, he accepted his fate.