Murder the Heroes

Chapter Two; Section Three

“Coil! Where the hell are they? For that matter, where the hell are we?” Koral shouted up at him from the bottom of the gulley. His annoyance was plain as day. He was demanding. Perhaps because he felt responsible for Coil’s unilateral hire. In the beginning the others had been quite agreeable, now they seemed less so.  

“We’re close, we’re close!” Coil answered. He smudged his glasses as he tried to reposition them and sighed. There was mud everywhere – on his hands, his clothes, his face. Somewhere he found a corner of clothing that wasn’t yet besmirched and set about wiping the mud off. Only then could he get a good look around. In all directions he saw nothing but dark crevasses, stark hills and trees – nothing but trees.

He had no idea where they were. In all honesty, it was kind of to be expected. Nobody, after all, ever ventured this deeply into the forest. That, after all, was where the goblins roamed – rare was the farmer, the towny, the merchant who went to seek out the green menace. He’d assumed that wouldn’t be a problem – that the goblins would find them.

That was how it normally worked. The stories of the travellers making their ways through the forest to be beset by the half-pint horrors were as common as the leaves underfoot. Not this time, though. Coil was pretty sure they were watching them, even now and snickering behind their paws, or whatever you called the things at the end of their wrists. Was paws racist? Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended to be so knowledgeable about the little beasties?

Too late for that now. Now the people down below were pissed at him.

It hadn’t started out this way. In the beginning they’d been full of hope and good cheer. Then the rains had started. Then the camaraderie had quickly evaporated. Did the little shits know that they shouldn’t mess with these people? How could they? The damned critters weren’t known for their high intelligence. So how come they would pick on farmers but not on this group of intrepid adventurers? Was it the weapons? Was it the confidence? He didn’t know. He didn’t really know goblin psychology.

So all he could do was scan the horizons and hope. Ah yes, now he knew where he was! But wait, that couldn’t be. Hadn’t they been here yesterday?

Oh shit.

“God damn!”

Gods Damn, Elder, Gods damn,” Marthew corrected.

“I don’t care what they say here! I just want to know how much longer we need to wander around this forsaken forest before can get this over and done with!” Elder’s whined. Coil didn’t much like the wizard, with his strange mask and crooked shape. The feeling was mutual, apparently, with Elder the most resistant to Coil joining up. He’d also been adamant that Coil shouldn’t get more than a quarter share, the cheap bastard.

It hadn’t been a deal breaker. Nothing could be a deal breaker when she kept giving him those glances. He looked down, she caught his eye, he felt himself blush. Even now, soaked through, she looked amazing. If he were a drowned rat, then she would be the goddess to wet rodents.

It was her he most feared to disappoint.

So they had to find those bloody goblins! How could that be so hard? How could they always figure out when they should attack and when they should scamper away? More importantly, how could he change that? His frown deepend. Thinking like this was making his head hurt. That was happening a lot these last few days. He’d never needed to solve problems like this before!

“Come on, think, you bastard!” He muttered. Maybe he had to make them look like a better targets? How did you make yourself look like a good target? They could get rid of their weapons. “No, you idiot, that’s stupid.” Could he ask them to look different than they did? He shook his head. Perhaps if they looked like they were distracted? He chewed his lip. That wasn’t such a bad idea.