Sir Zachary

You drive forward, gathering small clusters of men as you go. Cutter at your left with a found pole-arm. You must reach Sir Zachary. You must turn the tide. You rarely bother fighting your foes, much less killing, preferring to bowl them over as you sprint towards your beleaguered friend.

“What took you so long?” Sir Zachary gasps out.

“I just wanted to give you a chance to show off, before I swooped in to save you. I believe the traditional reward for such acts is a kiss.” He blanches, then returns your tight grin. A few men laugh when they overhear.

“So what do we do about this little problem, Your Grace?” He raises his voice, putting on a brave show for the men.

“It's simply Zachary.” You find his **** levity equal party ridiculous and hilarious. “Find the Chieftain and relieve him of his burdensome head.” Sir Zachary lets out a bellow.

“And where will we find this Chieftain?” Cutter butts in, not aware of the charade.

“Just pick the biggest, ugliest, stupidest one. That's the Chieftain.”

“There!” Zachary points his sword at a particularly large goblin. Unusually big and most oddly not at the front of the fighting, this creature seems to be holding back as if it were directing its troops. Well, perhaps that was too generous. The beast's lantern sized head was swinging back and forth, froth dripped from its mouth, it looked for all the world, **** to attack and yet, it never moved a step. In its hands was an enormous warhammer.

“Get me to that creature, Sir Zachary.” He nods and barks a command. The men assume a V with the seasoned knight at the point. Like a spear, they drive into the horde, led by Zachary's incredible precision, the spear drives deeper and deeper. Men at the front fall, spilling blood and clutching ruined faces only to be replaced and the spear moves forward. Cutter jogs beside you at the center, his knuckles white on the halberd.

The great beast finally takes notices of you, but although its eyes twitch and begin to water, it hardly moves a muscle, even refusing to turn its great head. You take note of the four guards surrounding it. Who are similarly frozen and hardly smaller at all. All five goblins wear a crude but thick dark armor. The weight must be incredible.

“You handle the guards, leave the Chieftain to me, Sir Zachary.” He doesn't need to answer. In truth you didn't even need to speak. If there was one man in your duchy whom you could depend on, it was him.

You sprint forward out of the spear -Sir Zachary effortlessly steps aside without even looking your way- your sword spinning, but the great Chieftain still did not move. Was it paralyzed with fear? You bring you sword up to put an end to the question once and for all, and the beast moves at last. It was baiting you! Its backhand sends you flying. You clutch your blade and tumble end over end, **** on your own breath praying you don't impale yourself. The beast comes screaming after you, knocking aside your men with contemptuous ease. Sir Zachary finishes cutting down the last bodyguard and rushes to intercept it. “No! This is my fight.”

The beast turns to you and speaks, its voice a whining purr despite its great size. “Taurron.”

You realize that it has spoken its own name. And that around you the fighting has drawn to a stop. All eyes are upon you. “Magus Von Doom.”

“Von Doom.” Its eyes light up, and your family's name is on the lips of every goblin. They know your family well.

You flick your sword clean of the blood and swing it into a low guard position. This Taurron has reach and strength, you might be a shade faster if you weren't so damn tired. Now it was a toss up. Hopefully your training will win the day. You look around at the hungry faces of the goblins and the fierce but bloody faces of your men. Hopefully.

You charge forward, fake a step right then switch your grip and swing from you weak side. Taurron merely lifts his hand and takes the slash on his armor. He swings the mighty hammer. You duck back and miss a slice at his hands. Taurron laughs and smashes your face with a headbutt. You get the sinking feeling you are desperately outmatched.

Taurron sweeps his hammer around. You roll away slowly. Too slowly. Fire erupts along your rips and you hear a distinct crack in your ribs. Hopefully they are only cracked. Breathing now becomes an effort. Your return slash at his knees is pathetic and jeers echoes around you now as the greenskins see their leader's power. You hold up your sword to block and his next blow rips it from you grip.

You fall to your knees and your eyes take in the fading world. Your men, despondent, Goblins cheering the first victory of what promises to be a devastating campaign against the south. Adrianna swaying on her horse, she looks lovely, but horrified. You bleakly realize she is going to watch your die.

Taurron drops his warhammer and lifts up your sword instead. In his hands it looks like a child's play thing, he lifts you in one hand, your weak struggles to no avail, and slowly presses your own blade against your side. He's too far. The tough leather holds for a moment, then gives way. Closer. The metal bites into your flesh, but you do not scream. Closer. Instead you let out the smallest gasp. Almost inaudible, Taurron drags you in to hear more. Right, there. With your one good arm you ram your dagger in his eye.

He lurches backward with a cry and you fall to the ground. Life and **** is on a razor's edge. You drag yourself to the sword, vision going dark, breath nearly gone, you slam your sword into the great beasts head and twist. You stagger, nearly falling from that small effort, pull back the blade and hack at Taurron's head. One, two three swings and its free, dagger still embedded in the eye, you lift it above your head and scream your victory. And then you are no more.