Silent Desperation, An Unbroken Story - Part 3: A Brutal Plan
Read part one here. Part two here.
The further Maxyn gets from the cavern the better he seems to feel, the fear that had gripped him in the aftermath of killing the Wererat dissipates like fog in the morning sun. And with-it Maxyn’s frantic pace slows until eventually he stops.
On the edge of exhaustion, he leans against the cold stone walls. Maxyn has done nothing but run since he was left for dead, propelled first by desperation and then by fear. But now he feels he has nothing left, he tries to will his feet forward, but they do not obey. Maxyn gives into his exhaustion and half collapses against the tunnel wall. The cold stone floor and walls at least numbing the pain in his side while he takes ragged breaths of musty air. He lingers for long moments, longer than someone running for their life probably should linger. On the other hand, the respite gives Maxyn time to think.
He’s been running on instinct since the attack but slumped against the wall gives his mind a chance to catch up. The more he thinks about it the more that Maxyn is sure that the goblin, whose life he just ended, was part of that group that attacked his party. If that’s the case, the remainder of said group is sure to be close by. Part of him knows that he should use this knowledge to better his chance of survival, to stay out of sight, to stay hidden. The other part of him looks down at his hands and clothing, both soaked in the goblin’s blood and cruel thoughts coagulate in Maxyn’s mind; what can be done to one of his enemies can be done to another. These thoughts, already sticky with blood, start to meld together into a plan. Each time one of the enemy warband meets their end, not only does it remove an obstacle in Maxyn’s path but the spoils of his fallen enemy bolster Maxyn’s chances further still. The path seems clear: kill anyone that stands in his way and take their strength for his own. Having an objective. Having a plan helped Maxyn’s resolve immensely.
Determination spilled over into creativity as Maxyn examined his make-shift knife, his only weapon. Against the lightly armoured goblin it was a fine, if brutal, weapon but it would come up short against the more heavily armoured hobgoblin. Removing the broken arm of the trap and the scraps of metal that he took off the goblin from his pack, Maxyn weighs up his options. He carefully disassembles his knife, removing the iron spikes from the length of hardwood and then attaching them to the trap arm in the same manner as before. He then folds the old cartographer’s map over itself and wraps it around one end of the trap arm. The result could only be called a sword in the loosest of terms but the increased weight and length from the knife he made was certainly an improvement. Maxyn stands at last, gives the sword a few test swings to get the feel of the balance and with some renewed vigour starts down the tunnel once again.
Not far from where Maxyn collapsed is another storehouse. This one was in considerably worse condition than the first he found; the door had been ripped from its hinges, and several holes had been knocked in the walls. The interior was in just as bad a state, most of the shelves had collapsed if not been removed entirely. The look of abandoned destruction was completed by the skeletal remains of some misbegotten adventurer slumped against one of the walls. Looking over the corpse anything of value had already been taken, and whatever was left has decayed into obsolescence. Determined not to leave empty-handed, Maxyn breaks off a few short lengths of wood from what remains of the shelving. He reasons they might make for some decent kindling or, in a pinch, an impromptu stake. With nothing else of value in the dilapidated storehouse, Maxyn puts the wood in his pack and continues onwards.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get too far before the tunnel falls steeply away into a secluded cavern. Maxyn briefly considers turning back, but he’s come too far. Using some metal fragments he had collected as footholds; Maxyn slowly makes the descent into the cavern. Like the cavern in which he encountered the goblin, the floor is covered in a coarse gravel with the occasional large boulder. Shafts of moonlight pierce the gloom at irregular intervals, although none of them are remotely accessible without dedicated climbing equipment.
The weak light however is more than plentiful enough that some vegetation has taken hold in the cavern. Amongst the mosses and lichen Maxyn finds a small shrub. No higher than a span of a hand nonetheless the shrub bears some fruit in the form of vibrant purple berries. Primarily a city dweller, Maxyn’s skills at berry identification are sadly lacking. Acutely aware that the denizens of this cave system will have left them for a reason he nonetheless carefully picks the berries and slips them gently into a pocket.
The cavern seems to go on forever as Maxyn continues his journey onwards. Making his way around the fallen boulders he keeps glancing to the pockmarked ceiling, hoping for an exit that he can scrabble through and finally be free of the haunting darkness of the cave system. Alas, no such egress presents itself and after what seems like hours of walking Maxyn plops himself behind a particularly moss laden boulder.
Judging himself to be suitably far from any immediate danger Maxyn removes the wood splinters from his pack and starts to construct a small fire. It’s warm flickering light banishing the cold darkness of the cavern for a short time. Maxyn also uses the opportunity to try a few of the berries he had collected. The taste isn’t exactly pleasant but on the other hand Maxyn doesn’t immediately void his bowels.
Staring into the flames of the small fire Maxyn lets his mind wander. With the hiss and crack of wet wood splitting the traumatic memories of the attack bubble to the surface. Instead of trying to keep them at bay, Maxyn embraces them. He winces as they come into sharper focus in his mind. But he needs to know who attacked his party, who his enemies are. One memory in particular comes to the forefront of Maxyn’s mind, the image of a hulking hobgoblin sliding its ragged knife into his side. Maxyn nearly cries out in sympathetic pain but manages to stop himself.
Maxyn draws ragged breaths through clenched teeth as he attempts to calm himself of the traumatic memory. Calm but not suppressed. The anger and pain have given him a kind of clarity. In Maxyn’s mind there is only one course of action, to secure his survival and to avenge his fallen friends the hobgoblin must die.
Opening his eyes once more Maxyn’s short-lived campfire has already burnt itself out. With grim determination he pushes himself to his feet once more. He continues on through the cavern as it tapers and narrows eventually becoming no wider or taller than the tunnels he has travelled through before.
Not far into the winding tunnel there is yet another snare-trap, the rusted contraption is far too obvious to catch anything. Kneeling on the cold stone Maxyn inspects the trap to see if he can pry any metal from it, however he’s surprised to see the snaring mechanism intact. If he can separate the traps itself from the chain anchoring it to the floor, then it may have some use. Maxyn doesn’t have any tools so the process of removing the trap from the chain is both tiresome and loud. Just when he finally gets it free does the hobgoblin, attracted by the noise, round the corner.
More out of reflex than anything else, Maxyn throws the snare-trap at the hobgoblin. The shock of the trap sailing through the air, thrown by someone the hobgoblin was sure was already dead, gives Maxyn a few precious seconds to scramble to his feet and draw his weapon. The trap catches the hobgoblin in the arm and clamps shut around the wrist. Its aging mechanism is not strong enough to defeat the hobgoblin’s armoured vambrace and do any real damage but hopefully it will slow them down and throw them off balance enough to give Maxyn the edge.
And Maxyn doesn’t waste the opportunity, wading in and swinging his makeshift sword. His gamble pays off and the barbed weapon bites into the hobgoblin’s shoulder armour. Maxyn wrenches the sword free, taking slats of the armour with it. The hobgoblin takes a heartbeat to keep his footing, and Maxyn exploits the opening to swing his sword in a wide powerful arc into the hobgoblin’s armoured thigh. Again, the iron spikes pierce the armour, not deep enough to wound, but deep enough that Maxyn can pull the pieces of armour away.
The hobgoblin roars in anger, swinging their halberd wildly. The attack is clumsy and off-balance, but it strikes true, catching Maxyn on the shoulder. The wound is far from serious, but it does cause Maxyn to flinch in pain. Maxyn grits his teeth and immediately goes back on the offensive, using his barbed sword to fight his way inside the hobgoblin’s guard.
Once again, the iron spikes strike armour, this time into the chainmail hauberk. The iron spikes on Maxyn’s sword push their way through the links in the armour to bite into the flesh underneath. Maxyn pulls away, tearing the rusted chainmail links part and once again wrong footing the hobgoblin. However, the enemy quickly recovers this time, quick enough to deflect Maxyn’s killing swing aimed at the hobgoblin’s neck. Instead, it strikes the hobgoblin’s elaborate helmet, catching under curved decoration across the brow and wrenching the thing from his head.
The hobgoblin retaliates instantly with the halberd, but in his disorientation gravely misjudges the distance. Instead of slicing Maxyn’s head clean from his shoulders the long handle of the weapon smacks Maxyn squarely in the temple. Believing himself to have dazed his foe the hobgoblin readies himself to make the killing blow.
But Maxyn has fought through daze and pain since he woke up after the attack that killed his party. Delirium is nothing new to him and he barely staggers as he roars from the bottom of his lung. Maxyn brings his makeshift sword down with all his strength in an overhead arc straight into the hobgoblin’s head. He channels every ounce of fear, frustration and pain that he has experienced since coming into the Dark into the strike. With the weight of the iron bar between them the iron spikes easily crush through the hobgoblin’s skull and into the grey matter behind. The hobgoblin’s limbs instantly go limp, and the hulking brute collapses to the floor.
Despite the fortuitous strike, Maxyn takes slow deep breaths while he waits for his head to stop spinning. Kneeling by the corpse he takes stock of the situation. Most of the armoured plates on the hobgoblin have been shattered, even the helmet has rolled away into some dark corner. The chainmail hauberk is still mostly intact, and Maxyn spends the next few minutes extracting the hobgoblin’s corpse from it without breaking too many more links nor getting too much blood from the ragged head wound on it. He slips it on trying not to think too hard about the dark red stains around the neck of the garment. It doesn’t fit all that well but it’s better protection than what the blood-soaked clothing he’s currently wearing.
While casting about in a vain attempt to locate the missing helmet Maxyn spots the halberd’s blade glinting in the darkness. It would seem the hobgoblin hit him hard enough to break the shaft. Maxyn rubs the growing lump on the side of his head. The halberd’s blade is about as long as Maxyn’s cobbled together sword and even has enough handle left to him to hold onto. Carefully removing the iron spikes from the weapon and placing them in his pack, he leaves the rest behind, the iron bar is a bit too cumbersome to be of any use.
As the pain in his shoulder and temple cool to a dull throb Maxyn’s stomach reminds him on just how exhaustive his brief fight with the hobgoblin was. But he only has a few morsels, which he wolfs down, and the hobgoblin unfortunately didn’t see fit to have any food on him when he was killed.
Despite the additional wounds and hunger, Maxyn stands a little taller as he begins to make his way down the twisting tunnel once more. He might still need to find his way out of the cave system, but things should be a little easier now that the one responsible for wounding him is lying in a pool of their own blood and brain matter courtesy of a crushed skull. Vengeance has sated him more than any food scraps could have, even if his aching muscles feel otherwise, and one way or another; Maxyn’s journey will soon be at an end.