After a long day wandering back from the adventure at the thicket, Grisk and Remgrack heard the sounds of commotion in the distance. Ears twitching, Grisk grasped tightly onto his dagger’s hilt, placing a grim expression on his face.
“That doesn’t sound good, Remgrack declared. He turned to look at his friend, looking concerned. “Sounds like a big battle.”
Grisk nodded in agreement, his stomach churning with worry. On his way north, news of a goblin encampment reached him; a village was recently raided by a scouting party, and when a scouting party is sent out…
“There might be trouble, friend. I feel something bad is on the horizon…”
Instinctually, Remgrack drew out an arrow from his quiver, holding it in a firing position. Unlike their previous encounter, he wasn’t going to be surprised again, not if he could do anything about it. As if they had the same ideal, Grisk repeated the same task, drawing his short sword.
“That’s Hixeu’s sword!” bellowed Remgrack. “That must mean…” For once, the gears turned quickly in his head, immediately making the connection with the amount of danger involved.
The two took an engrossed pace, weaving through the brush with an incredible speed. Grisk’s sword hacked at limbs as they darted about, clearing a path to blaze through. Then suddenly, they stopped. The edge of the forest was before them, and they clearly could see what lay in the open field: a tremendous conflict of both humans and goblins.
Both of Grisk’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t believe that his journey had led him out this far. Krulog’s camp was far away from the thicket, and there was no possible way they could have covered that much ground in one day. They truly must have been eager to arrive back home.
Remgrack immediately dove for cover, and gazed up at Grisk. “Get down!” His finger pointed directly in front of him. “Throgus is out there! He’ll kill us!”
Like a reversal of fortune, it now appeared that Grisk was the one who couldn’t think with lighting efficacy. Such a strong chain of events had stunned him, leaving with a plethora of memories to process.
Quickly, Remgrack grabbed his friend’s wrist and yanked him down to the underbrush. “What is wrong with you?” he grunted with a mixture of anger and confusion in his eyes. “Why you just stand there like a tree?”
Grisk expression softened, and he took a slow gasp of air. “Throgus has been missing for years. I thought he was dead.”
His friend looked at him confused. “why does that matter. He was not at home, he was gone anyway.”
“I gave up the hunt for him. With his death, I no longer had to spend hours searching him to exact revenge for the murder of my parents.”
With a few deep breaths, Remgrack wisely responded. “You should go find honor Grisk. Throgus needs to pay for that.”
There was a fire that Grisk felt burn within the grip of his blade. Somehow, he knew his friend was right, and that he needed to take action straight to the battlefield. Fingers loosened and repositioned themselves on the hilt they held, focusing his emotions on the situation at hand.
“Onward!” The both leapt into the open, weapons clutched tightly within their grasp. In an enraged series of steps, they charged towards the fray.
Grisk’s eyes locked angrily on his parent’s assassin. Mathematical and arcane formulae twisted around inside his mind, overriding any fear he felt upon entering a roaring battle. The efficiency used to duck beneath swinging swords and charging horses was phenomenal; to this day, few would be able to describe, or even comprehend, how he was able to move in such a way.
When Grisk was finally able to see the whites of Throgus’s eyes, he planted his feet firmly into the ground and stared with a determined fury. His left hand, tingling with energy, flexed with a rhythmic pattern, a flow of arcane energy compounding within his fingertips.
“Throgus, how dare you bring an army against a peaceful neighbor!” White energy flashed forth when Grisk raised his hand, launching a series of missiles toward his enemy. Unerringly, they darted towards their target, releasing a concussive pulse of raw energy upon impact.
Instantly, the spell’s target stopped his assault on an armored knight, and turned to return Grisk’s glare. Seeming unaffected by the missiles, he shifted his stance and began a spirited trample, two famished and ferocious worgs aiding his pursuit.
Angry eyes noticed their assailant moving forward, and thus Grisk shifted his weight forward. Within his mind, an image of a burning inferno formed; Grisk lifted his palms and forced them to face Throgus. Bursts of energy shot forth, roiling with searing fire from each hand.
Flashes of orange light erupted upon impact onto the warrior’s shoulder, incinerating a mound of flesh into a charred heap. Throgus still continued moving, however, channeling his pain into an enraged blow.
Bloodied steel sunk into Grisk’s arm, followed by the jagged teeth of two worgs. Despite his reflexes, Grisk could do little to avoid the canine’s two jaws, dropping to a knee in pain.
Memories flashed before his eyes, painful memories of the past. Memories of his parents’ death, of learning Throgus’s treachery to him. He saw images of his effort in front of the chieftain fail, of seeing his companions being slaughtered when sent out of scouting missions.
The familiar burn that he felt within his palms called out to him once more. “Go back and send support from home!” Grisk yelled out to Remgrack, his tone commanding and firm. As he spoke, Remgrack nodded in agreement, taking to his feet immediately.
Flames welled within his mind, the only thought now able to exist outside of vengeance. Teeth angrily clenched, Grisk repeated the same motion he performed earlier, but instead fueled the scorching beams with the blaze he held inside.
That fire that torrented out of his palms aligned perfectly with the face of their target. A gory inferno engulfed Throgus’s head, converting flesh into exhausted carbon. Blood splayed forth onto the worgs and Grisk.
Amidst the organic mess splattered all over him, Grisk growled, gathering the words to throw into the air. “Behold, your leader has fallen! This is what happens to those that avoid peace!”
With such words spoken, there was a pause in the battle. Goblins all around turned their heads and stared at the destruction that Grisk caused. Faces gaped in awe, and goblin weapons were lowered, Grisk’s words ringing in their ears.
“Men, lower your blades to all that have done the same!”
Grisk heard that voice somewhere before, not very long ago… he turned, searching for that familiar face that had given orders to the human army. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand fall on his shoulder, noticing his friend Briar.
“Good to see you again, friend.” There was a warm smile on his face as he spoke. “We thought something had happened to you.”
All the anger within him slowly lifted, and once more he was smiling. “Sorry for being gone so long. I had been on a journey to find honor, and it seems that I found more than I had expected.”
Grisk bent down and picked up Throgus’s battle-axe, turning it over in his hands. The smile on his lips quickly faded, the knowledge that the tool of his parents’ murder lay in his hands. His family had finally been avenged, though the battle had not been won yet. His left ear twitched, the sound of commotion occurring on his left.
“They’re closing the gates!” another familiar voice called out. “We need to get in before they’re locked!”
Instinctively, Grisk jumped atop one of the worgs which previously attacked him; his previous pyrotechnics display had gained their respect out of fear. Reins in hand, Grisk took his mount at full charge towards the gates, the newly claimed battle-axe raised high.