Throrin sings along in a horrible, out-of-tune bass voice.
The road crests a small rise and descends into a grove in a wide, shallow dell. An abandoned farmhouse, partially visible through the trees, stands on the right side of the road. You've passed a dozen spots much like this one already today.
A short distance behind the caravan, a handsome young man garbed in garish, red robes has been travelling the long road between Brindol and Drellin's Ferry for almost three days now. He feels grateful to his master Immerstal for lending him his own personal horse, a well-behaved red mare named Saula. He has been following a large wagon for a few miles now, and now the wagon dips down into a dell and out of sight ahead.
Just off the road, in the light underbrush, a weatherbeaten man keeps pace with the wagon, too, taking long, silent strides in the tall grass. His dark hair is tied back, and he is caked in the dust of the road. The dwarves haven't noticed him yet, which suits him. He's sticking close by to the armed guards for safety.
Throrin's head suddenly snaps up, his slumped posture going rigid in the saddle as he calls a halt to the caravan. His helmet's off from the heat, and he can hear something. In the underbrush, Corrigan has frozen, too. They begin to see the shadowy shapes of figures crouched along the edge of the road, hidden in the tall grass. There is the sound of the taut pull of a bowstring.
Saula trots along in the dust, carrying Keith over the lip of the dell to where he can see the caravan once more.
Crude, vulture-feathered arrows sing through the air, and the two dwarven caravan guards to either side of Throrin slump dead in the saddle.
Throrin: By Moradin's hammer!
Throrin hefts his shield and slides out of the saddle, taking cover behind the pony.
Corrigan draws his sword and slips quietly into the tallest grass.
Keith sees the carnage and guides Saula calmly foward, toward the battle. He speaks an incantation and moves his hands, and suddenly there are four images of Keith Waxloor sitting atop the horse, blurring and shifting in the sun.
Another volley of arrows sing out, one striking the pony in the flank and driving the beast away. The others pepper Throrin, clattering from his heavy shield as he ducks behind it. One strikes him in the side, bruising through a weak spot in the chainmail.
Throrin: I knew I should have worn my helmet! Allfather preserve me...
Ahead on the road, two large hellhounds with blood-red fur appear. They bark savagely, flames licking like spittle from their mouths, the air around them shimmering with heat. The figures on the sides of the road stand to get a better aim. They are hobgoblins, tall and hairy, with pointed ears and sharp teeth, dressed in armor for war.
Throrin draws his warhammer and swears in dwarven as he falls back to the wagon for more cover.
Gand reacts, as well, screaming and leaping into the wagon from the driver's seat, terrified.
Keith reigns Saula in behind the wagon, his multiple images blurring as he works another spell. A shimmering field of force coalesces around him, then fades.
Corrigan moves slowly, quietly, deliberately, no stranger to gutting a few hobgoblin brigands. He reaches the first hobgoblin and leaps from the brush, flinging his longsword out at the creature. Its edge crashes into the chainmail at the monster's belly, the armor turning a killing stroke into an inconvenience. Hobgoblins don't normally wear chainmail. Corrigan doesn't think this is going to be his day.
The hobgoblin screams at Corrigan, hurling its longbow aside and drawing a crude, curved blade into an upswing that slices the human across his left shoulder. Another of the hobgoblins sees the fight, and rushes to join. Another volley of arrows thud into the wagon as Throrin ducks behind it.
Suddenly, the biggest hobgoblin of them all steps clearly onto the road ahead. He is over six feet tall, and he grips two curved, flashing blades. A red hand is painted on the chest of his horsehide armor, and the hellhounds heel at his command, barking and slavering flames. He points ahead at the wagon and Throrin and barks a simple command in goblin, "Kill." The hellhounds bound forward.
Throrin starts muttering and moving his gnarled shield-hand in an intricate pattern. He is shrouded in a pale nimbus of white light.
Throrin: Moradin, may your shield protect me against the nonbelievers and the defilers.
Throrin steps from behind the wagon, and shouts a few phrases of goblin.
Throrin: Your mothers were dung-spattered whores, and your fathers were spineless worms!
Keith swings down from Saula, slipping wordlessly behind the dwarf and casting a spell of resistance on him.Corrigan spins, drawing another blade and dancing between the two hobgoblins assailing him. They come out unscathed, and counterattack. He parries one, but the other catches him a light blow to the back. Nope, not his day at all.
The hellhounds reach Throrin, belching burning cinders from their mouths in a fiery display that engulfs both dwarf and wagon for a moment. The dwarf manages to duck behind his shield, avoiding the brunt of the flames, but the oxen and wagon are not so lucky. The beasts of burden lie crisped and dead, and the wagon has caught fire. The bladebearing hobgoblin laughs a deep bellow.
Throrin: By the forges of Moradin, you beasts! I'll see you scrapping slag from my father's iron pits!
Throrin steps forward and slams his heavy hammer into one of the hellhounds, the creature yelping in pain.
Keith moves from behind the burning wagon and into the road. He speaks more words of power, casting his arm out and sending two bright, burning lines of flame streaking through the sky at the hobgoblin bladebearer. He leaps forward into a dive, rolling out of the way of both lines of fire and back onto his feet as he turns his forward momentum into an all-out charge at Throrin.
Corrigan turns and dodges, parrying the hobgoblins and fighting for his life.
Throrin catches a lunging hellhound on his shield, shoving it away as the other snaps at his legs. Arrows continue to bounce from his armor, and he doesn't see the bladebearer until he's upon him, burying one of his flashing swords between Throrin's ribs.
Throrin screams out, blooded, and swings his hammer down on the wounded hellhound's head. There is a sickening noise, and the beast slumps to the ground dead.
Keith steps gingerly away from the melee, moving his hands in a comically-inviting gesture at the bladebearer as a crackling ray of black energy strikes him. It slows considerably, its sword thrusts growing sluggish and weak.
Corrigan reaches into a tumble, feinting a blow to the nearest hobgoblin's head which actually turns into a brutal slash at its chest. His momentum is sufficient to pierce the chainmail, and it howls in pain as it goes down.
The hobgoblins alongside the road realize that their arrows are ineffective. They cast their bows aside, charging into melee with the dwarf, who is now beset by enemies on all sides.
Throrin: Haha! I was wondering when you maggots would find your manhood!
The hellhound comes at Throrin again, distracting his shield as the bladebearer lands a strong blow to the plate at Throrin's neck. The dwarf is beginning to breathe very hard. Corrigan dodges the hobgoblin attacking him, glad to be against one foe now, and not two.
Throrin casts an incantation behind his shield, and a soft glow mends his wounds and stops his bleeding.
Keith seems at a loss, stepping to the tall grass just off the road as he hurls another spell, a smoking arrow of acid that smacks into the bladebearer's chest armor and sizzles there.
Corrigan leaves off the hobgoblin fighting him, emerging from the brush and onto the road to aid the beset dwarf.
The fracas is complete chaos now, the din of battle ringing in the air as Throrin and Corrigan block, dodge, and parry, both coming out unscathed under numerous attacks. The remaining hound once again breathes flames onto the warriors and the smoking wagon.
Throrin begins spitting and cursing in a fury.
Throrin: You fight like gnomish children! I'd ravish your women when I kill you all, but I fear their diseases more than your blades!
Gand suddenly bursts from the back of the burning wagon. His earth-tone tunic has caught fire. He runs around screaming and drops on the ground in an attempt to put himself out. The wagon continues to burn, and shifts suddenly on its weak supports. It looks like it's about to collapse at any moment.
Keith sees an opportunity. He steels himself and approaches close to the fight, raising his hands and speaking words of power. A blinding cascade of colored lights blast from Keith's hands, knocking many of the hobgoblins completely senseless. The bladebearer shuts his eyes just in time, and is unharmed.
Corrigan, too, is caught in the blast. His head snaps back and he drops his weapons, stunned. Not. His. Day.
The bladebearer screams and throws himself at Keith, swinging his sword into one of the blurred images of the wizard, which promptly vanishes upon being struck.
The remaining hobgoblins howl and converge on Throrin, but they cannot get through the dwarf's formidable armor. He feels only an inconvenient pressure under the force of their blows.
Throrin: Hahahaha! Damned mud rutters!
Throrin wheels towards the bladebearer once more, coming up from behind to strike a resounding blow to the hobgoblin's back with his heavy hammer.
Throrin: Good morning, nancy-ass!
The bladebearer wheels on Throrin as the wagon collapses in a cloud of smoke, ash, and sparks.
Keith aims more carefully this time, leaving out the stunned Corrigan as he releases an impressive burst of flame onto his remaining opponents. The hobgoblin force is reduced to charred corpses. All save the bladebearer, who nimbly leaps aside.
Corrigan slowly comes to his senses, fumbling in the dust for his dropped swords.
The bladebearer lands another blow to Throrin's chest, but Keith's strength-sapping magic has made his attacks much weaker. The hell hound gnashes at Throrin's legs ineffectually.
Throrin raises his shield and speaks loud, dwarven words as he recites a prayer.
Throrin: May you mimic the earth, and stand still as the stones!
The bladebearer sneers at the dwarf, raising his blades, but then he goes completely rigid, paralyzed by the dwarf's magic.
Keith points an extended finger at the hell hound, projecting a thin, blue line of extreme cold. The hound yelps as the ray touches it, fleeing into the underbrush.
Corrigan's eyes weep and water as he finds the hilt of one sword. He hefts it in both hands, turning on the bladebearer and screaming into a lunging strike. The sword bites completely through the hobgoblin's motionless body, and it falls.
Throrin's breath heaves as he turns to the two humans, his mane of wild brown hair and beard blowing in the wind. Corrigan lays flat on the ground, exhausted. Keith is completely unharmed, not even his hair mussed. Throrin spits a gobbet of phlegm onto the fallen hobgoblin leader. He moves to another of the creatures lying in the dust of the road and bends down to it.
Keith: Is that one still alive?
Throrin: Aye. And it's a good thing. I've got some questions for him.
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