With a knife in the creature’s back, Llewellyn pressed his lips to its ears, “Cool runnings, brother.” A boot to its back dislodged it from the blade, and it fell in a heap on the floor.
Wiping the blade on his wrist guard, Llewellyn sheathed it once more and perused the body. A goblinoid creature, with yellowish skin and pointed ears. A bit tall to be one of the more common of its race, but an enemy nonetheless.
An approaching band of the creatures the same as the one dead before him drew his attention. Grabbing the goblin by the scruff of its leather jerkin, he tugged its body along with him into a nearby bush, its flowers in full bloom. The various hard stems and branches stuck into his body, mostly breaking off on his hard leather armour, but the occasional protrusion finding its way into his flesh. In the low light of the spring evening, Llewellyn was sure the damage to the bush would be well obfuscated, and he could wait out their passing.
“How many more times do I have to tell you dullards? We’re due in Caleah by morning tomorrow, so we can’t dally here long. Pack your things and fold up camp.” The most well armoured of the group gave the order, his face scarred and damaged from combat.
There was a low grumble of dissent, but the rest of the group obliged, stuffing things into rucksacks and dismantling tents.
One goblin made their way to the back of the camp, towards the site of its ally’s demise. Llewellyn watched with bated breath, his yellow eyes well-suited to the low light. It stopped, looked left and right, at the bush, and then back to camp.
“Anyone seen Glorbark?” asked the goblin, his voice shaking.
“No, why?” returned the leader.
“There’s a patch of blood here… and it smells of human.” The goblin raised its nose to the air, sniffing violently.
Its attempts at locating Llewellyn came to an end swiftly, as a dagger flew from the bush and lodged itself firmly in the goblin’s neck.
“Ambush! All men on alert, we’ve been compromised!” The leader pulled a horn from his hip, blowing hard, startling his underlings.
Llewellyn bit his thumb, drawing blood. Wiping it on the back of his hand, he drew a glyph, the marking glowing as it pulled magic from the atmosphere. Crimson tendrils grew from his palm like running ink, and in an instant, each of the goblins fell, their heads rolling beside them. The tendrils retracted, climbing back into his hand. He stood, cursed, and made his way to investigate his quarry.
Today's prompt: cool runnings
This Week's Worldbuilding prompt: spring
If you'd like to participate too, the contest/prompts can be found here: @mariannewest/day-1600-5-minute-freewrite-wednesday-prompt-cool-runnings
