Death March

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The sword cleaved into the goblin’s side with enough force to sever its spine. “To the deepest corner of the Abyss with these things!” cried Bera Kata. The Dark Knight commander thrust her heel against the dead goblin’s hip and yanked hard to pull her blade free.

She was covered in blood, none of it her own. She pulled up the hem of her tabard, using the underside to wipe off her face. After a deep breath, she plunged forward into the mass of goblins again.

Bera thought she heard one of the goblins cry, “Stop!” in the Common tongue. She knew them capable of language and recognized the clacking, snarling gibberish so many of them used. But as far as speaking her language? She considered them parrots repeating words taught to them by owners; they were not able to understand.

Goblins were stupid, pathetic creatures, lower than common animals, Bera knew. Filthy and annoying; the only good goblin was a dead one … or a slave.

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