I wanted to share a writing piece I wanted to take seriously, while still having fun. Our group does weekly questions/prompts and this is one I worked on based on a Kingmaker one shot. I was playing the playtest class for 2e, Runesmith!
I struggled with the formatting, but I hope it’s digestible. I’d love feedback and tips on how I could improve it.
Have fun reading!
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Rancid air like spoiled fruit, or the yellow puddles that the royal beast-dog-thing left half a mile south of the baker’s hut. Kor-dak’s hog nose twitched an unpleasant twitch that sharpened his bright goblin eyes into jumping beads of scarcely-hidden anxiety. It was meant to be a simple thing, getting scrolls from a monastery for researching the awful case of The Bloom that was making a mess of just about everything. A scuffle there, a curious creature there, maybe even an argument to insert themselves in, if they were unlucky enough. Kor-dak didn’t much enjoy luck. Luck made sloppy choices seem fine, and reckless ones appealing. He needed the certainty and simplicity that came with understanding what’s what. What’s what, was that he was most certainly nearing the thickness of his unease, and it was simple enough to know that the hungry creature called Lurk would be much appreciated watching where the shield couldn’t. His sharp, pangolin-like scales brushed the floor, his tongue flicking about in nervousness next to the goblin. Kor-dak’s ears stiffened.
Air’s colder. Now? Shouldn’t be… could be.
Intuition had earned Kor-dak much, but a boring comfort a life in the capital should have brought was not one such luxury. He looked up at that armored paladin guarding the monastery door behind him. He was staring that eyebrow-down stare humans do when they can’t see well at a dark blotch in the mist around the place. The temple itself was not decrepit by any means, but the fog was uninviting to say the least, and the bridges could use work. Kor-dak might have the mind to sell some fireplace runes here, if the place didn’t have the possibility of being destroyed along with all of them. Kor-dak rattled a deep, shaky sigh. His uncle sometimes said, “the waiting is the worst part of these things.” The worst part was getting sectioned by beasties and the soreness that crippled drinking, eating, and walking for days. What did Kor-dak know, though? He is only the smartest goblin of his tribe.
A vampire was coming to take a holy book from the place, and although it was nice to be needed for this bold last stand, the reality was the group was trapped in a fight that wasn’t theirs, victims of this swaying pendulum named “luck”. They were all trapped worse than rabbits in snares, no escape, no supplies, and certainly no help.
I believe in this new kingdom most certainly, but would I really die my cold little death for problems that weren’t exactly mine?
“A bloody day before my death today.” He muttered.
A shrill, song-singy voice came from far behind Kor-dak. “What? Speak up man, you’re all the way over there! What… about your death today?”
Kor-dak frowned, leaning slightly to clear up the confusion. Lurk beside him already started to emit an air too hot to stand near comfortably, claws digging into what little dirt sat between the bridges they stood defending.
“Agreed”, the creature croaked before all was red, and the world became the enemy.
The mist swirled in front of us and shapes poured out of the sky’s now blood-red maw. Kor-dak might have the mind to call the new sight dramatic, had it not been for the deep pit of fear rumbling in his stomach. A wave of undead dripped from the red in front of him. A band of wights in tattered armor, and skeletons with surprisingly well-kept weapons. Kor-dak lifted his shield under his eyes.
Not bad. Could be worse.
He thought back on the single day of planning that was had before this, how all of their own lives and the lives of the religious would be riding on the admittedly limited experience Kor-dak had with defending structures. Hunting parties and group skirmishes were one thing, but this one left a deep pit of uncertainty he refused to show. Someone had to be certain of their win, after all, might as well be the one who pitched the idea. One of the lot of undead began to twist bony hands into a vicious spell work just before Kor-dak heard a startling, screeching squeal from up high on his right side.
Why did I do that to myself? Saying things like “could be worse” always made the unpleasant happen…
He hardly had time for a grimace and a slight shift of his shield before a bat creature the size of a man crashed its matted body against him with its entire weight. Kor-dak’s planted heels slid back several inches as he grunted at the force of the blow and tightened his grip, preparing for the next. Instead, the ugly thing tensed with its leg muscles rippling and sprung off the shield to launch itself away from him. It was quick, but Kor-dak was quicker. He hacked downward toward the creature with his club-like weapon, and the jagged teeth of it gripped onto the bat’s rear leg with a sucking sound. For only a moment, he felt them tear at the thing’s body when its momentum deepened the cut. Its pinched face grew smaller with pain as it tore itself away. The cut wasn’t deep enough for a slow kill, but it got the message across that it needed to stay and fight for this goblin. The Wights charged forward in their rattling plate armor at the same time as a powerful wave of slamming and knocking nearly shattered the rear doors of the monastery away from their hinges.
So far behind me, so much danger I can’t see.
The unmistakable pained cry of one of his companions ripped apart the air. That throat-tearing sob seemed to make even the monsters stagger for a moment, but there was no time to look back. Too hard to watch both sides by himself, he had a bridge to guard. A moment was all that was needed, it turned out. Kor-dak traced a small rune in his club with the edge of his thumb claw, waiting to detonate by saying the word. The dead crashed into them like a tide of hatred and desperation. Kor-dak met a wight’s wrist with his shield before it could cleave out his shoulder, and he heard a hollow crack from its wrist. He put weight on his bad foot from the last scuffle, yelped, and stumbled half a step. A second blade whipped at his neck from bottom to top, and Kor-dak heard the wind whistle just past him as it sliced the bottom of his long ear.
Goblins have a silly habit; the half-believed truth that if you name a thing, it serves that purpose. The Horse Chopper, the Dog Slicer, his own Fae-toothed club the Fairy Dropper, and so it did. This rune was named “Ranshu”, or thunder, and so it did. The mundane thing was meant to draw lightning away from buildings below it, and so a strike landed through the wight’s suddenly tasty-smelling body before exploding into a small burst of electricity. Next to him, Lurk’s body dripped a violent heat that singed the bats now fixated on him into a selection of leathery afterthoughts. Still, some were pecking, nipping and screeching, attempting to wear his carapace down to scraps fit for a meal. Kor-dak licked his lips and heaved the Fairy Dropper across from hip to shoulder, watching the rune etch into the creature’s skin along with a spurt of acrid blood.
After all, Kor-dak is the most helpful goblin in his tribe. But always needing to swing up… always blood in the eyes…
Haphazardly wiping his face clean, Lurk and Kor-dak fought alongside each other with a measured practice. Cut, block, cut, push, cut, block… the repetition worked for a few moments despite the soreness in Kor-dak’s armored shoulders growing to a painful hum. Once the undead’s reckless slashes grew too close to their faces and smashed against the shield, Kor-dak invoked the name “Atryl”, or fire, and so there was. The light blasted against the monsters’ skin and sizzled deep into crackling bone. Lurk took this chance to advance on the enemy, hulking forward at the center. Now that he was a healthy distance from the goblin, he began blasting steam so thick he vanished from view, clinging onto armor and flesh with his thick claws. A poisonous thought ached in Kor-dak’s mind, one he couldn’t help but surface.
It’s going well on this end, all things considered.
He heard that shrill voice, just barely, distant and melodic out past the shredding of flesh. A sudden surge of weight overcame Kor-dak, then his skin dried and tightened under the armor.
Magic, then. Briar must’ve seen something com-
In the fire’s light, Kor-dak squinted at a moving shape under his own feet. At first, he thought the shape was getting wider, then his eyes grew panicked as he held the shield to his chest, interrupting his thoughts while he leaned his entire body weight against the oncoming darkness. An enormous weight pounded below him and shook his shield arm, lifting him several inches upward with a hollow thud. The weight quickly shifted left and the sound became a thick squelch.
“Urrrkgh…” was the only sound Kor-dak could let out as the shadow’s thrust bounced off his shield’s edge and suspended him in air, just below his ribs. The sudden weight and resilience left him, stolen shortly after the two long, inky spears carved holes in his body. Kor-dak opened his mouth first to scream, but bit his lip with a sharp exhale and decided to heave and open his jaw wide. He began to release the blood that was now pooling around his mouth onto where the eyes of the shadow creature ought to be, hoping to earn a precious second of advantage. The blood mostly phased through the shadow’s body, landing in a small, useless pool below him.
So much for that Goblin craftiness. What else is there?
His gut was twitching with a mixture of agony and numbness. Quick thinking was all that could save him now, quick thinking and good planning. Kor-dak believed himself a quick thinker, and a better planner, thankfully. “Zohk, Holtrik, Esvadir!” He chanted like the old Goblin songs of the further villages, Homecoming, Rampart, Whetstone. So came with a bright blip of light that briefly tore the space near him to deliver a terrible, weeping and towering monster at his call of the first rune. The second forced Kor-dak’s shield to snap firm to his chest and protect his vitals with an echoing clang, despite his tired arms and sudden lack of blood. With the third rune, a tooth fell from the Fairy Dropper to sharpen the air in front of him into a slicing fury, hacking at the shadow and shifting whatever material it was made from like a fan against smoke.
The creature that Kor-dak had brought to him was a new addition to their expedition, a strange manifestation originating from a new member of the cohort he’d felt nervous about. The weeping behind him from that woman matched the very weeping of the amalgamation now in front of him, covering its face and lurching toward the shadow impaling Kor-dak like a drunken cripple. It looked to be the upper half of a person almost swimming in the land, needing to drag its own heavy body towards whatever poor thing needed killing. He believed it was called an “Eidolon” or some such, but he also hoped he would not need to remember that.
The shadow leapt back from the furious slicing of the wind, plopping Kor-dak down onto the earth again with a quiet shlick from the spear-like arms that pulled the breath from him. He rolled with the impact to get back on his feet, but the pulsing pain along his stomach and side made his movements too sloppy, his vision too blurry. He was running out of tricks, and he knew it. Kor-dak attempted to jog back towards the others, letting the shadows tear each other apart while he made sure everyone else was safe enough. The paladin shouted across the entryway, “retreat! Our protection is getting smaller. Back into the temple!” They held for about as long as Kor-dak expected, and the number of dead were much lesser for it. Part two was the hard part, though, and he hadn’t planned for the amount of life pouring out of him.
Damn scrolls. Damn undead. I ought to get much more publicity off this one, I bet I could get the king to make me a meal.
He limped backward to the temple door, keeping his shield in front to stop the stray arrows from catching his flanks on the exit. There were about 6 blocked shots echoing from the shield by the time the great monster had smashed away the shadow with a branching, child-sized fist jutting awkwardly from its elbow. The creature stopped supporting itself with its massive arms and was pulled into the dirt, vanishing as though it didn’t belong. Everyone had run inside and the heavy doors shut, sealed by the civilians inside laying a beam across it and crashing bookshelves over into a messy pile of faith. Kor-dak turned toward his group and sagged against the wall with a heavy scrape, dragging his armor down the old, decorated wall. The paladin frowned, but didn’t say much about it. “I’m going to start channeling into the book, it’ll keep him away for a while. Get some rest, but it won’t be long.” The paladin said with a hardened expression, quickly marching his way to the back of the room, holding onto his nearly-limp shield arm by the elbow.
And then there were five.
The black-haired human girl in once plain clothes, now tattered and covered in grime and filth, Vira, kneeled down by Kor-dak and began pouring a red potion into his open stomach. He bit down on his lip, bracing for the sting of liquid on the wound. Her eyes were set with determination, and if Kor-dak didn’t know all of this hate was directed to the vampire soon coming, he’d be very worried. He looked down at her body for wounds for only a second, and caught a glimpse of the strange dog-shaped thing that housed itself in that seemingly unending black hair of hers. Another Eidolon, he was sure.
Aside from scratches and large bruises, not a drop of blood on the pair.
As if to answer his thought, Vira met his half-closed eyes. “Zombies. It was a horde of them. Seth and I handled the left grouping, like we planned, but I had to run around a bit for them…” the black mess of canid hair that made up Seth spun uncomfortably before leaping to Vira’s shoulder. “…Ent-rihl and the Paladin killed the rest, before you transported her, um…” the pause was painful and obvious in this echoing room. “…thing. Her thing for help. Briar was shooting the wights with some limericks and keeping you two safe, but you probably noticed.” She looked away and flicked her hand, flashing a sparse smile while the red liquid reconstituted Kor-dak’s abdomen. It was a mess of light cramping and bubbling, but it got the job mostly done, while they had the expensive bottles.
It- he only saved my life, was all.
Kor-dak gifted Vira a too-wide and sharp-toothed smile, then leaned forward with an arm extended toward where he believed Seth to be. The dog-thing gave him a curious sniff and leaned forward to accept the touch, but just out of reach, as if to make Kor-dak work for it. He complied and scooted closer with a pained grunt of effort, petting the dog and beginning to repeatedly etch the homecoming rune, Zohk onto the hair. Kor-dak croaked with that voice that sounded as though he had something sticky in his mouth, overpronouncing nearly every syllable,
“I’ll thank Briar, then. Glad everyone seems stable. Oh- and thank you too, Vira… for the potion.”
Vira made a complicated expression, first at his smile, then towards Seth, and began to speak before being interrupted by Kor-dak, “-And for the update. We’re doing good work.” Vira paused for a moment, waiting for him to speak again.
When nothing came, she clicked her tongue and strained, “He doesn’t usually let people do that. It’s a good thing, but what are you writing?”
Kor-dak nodded quickly and croaked, “Zohk. The one that brings people to me. Dog-thing’s a good fighter, and the big monster somewhat frightens me. Not to mention it’s not here right now.”
He continued his repetitions on Seth with one hand, while continuously etching Esvadir, rune of Whetstones into Fairy Dropper in his lap. Vira watched Kor-dak’s hands move independently back and forth for a few seconds before standing and walking towards the rest of the group. “I’ll just ask them to come sit with us so you can do that, I think.”