Session 8: Goblin Eyes Report

General Summary

Scorch looked up at the ancient stone statue at his village’s sacred grove. The empty sockets of its eyes stood in stark contrast to the magnificent gemstones that had adorned the otherwise dull grey idol until recently.   The scalemother would obviously be displeased by the tribe’s failure. Scorch had allowed a group of outsiders to enter the grove and steal their god’s eyes. For a moment Scorch wondered if this meant the scalemother would be unable to find him to exact his punishment. He quickly abandoned such sacrilegious thoughts, however. The scalemother had provided for the village for centuries, making sure the village elder had access to powerful magics. Now, without her eyes, and without his spellbook, Scorch and his tribe would be a lot less capable of defending the village from the many predators of the jungle. Scorch was sure his punishment would come soon. Maybe one of the scalemother’s brood would come to devour him, or maybe he would get bitten by a deathfly and get sick.   Overcome by grief and worry, Scorch sank to his little goblin knees and wept. The guards that stood at the entrance to the grove looked at each other in bewilderment. This was the first time they had seen their mighty leader so distraught. Not wanting to shame him further they turned their back on the grove and walked back to the village. More sounds of grief welcomed them there as the tribe was preparing to bury the hunters that had died trying to stop the intruders.   Scorch was grateful for his warriors’ discretion. He should not have shown such weakness, but he did not have much hope left for his tribe. After a few minutes he dried his tears with the back of his hand and crawled back up to his feet. He almost fell back down in surprise as he turned to the entrance of the grove and found a tall black skinned muscular man with pointed ears and sharp horns standing behind him.
“I am looking for the marked ones. I know they have been here. Tell me where they have gone, and your death will be painless and quick.”   The fiend’s voice was soft but menacing. He spoke with a confidence that made Scorch sure he could make real his threat. With a broken voice, still filled with despair and sorrow, but very little fear, Scorch answered.
“The tall folk that came here? They left half a day ago. They went sunfall, towards the dragon city.”   The fiend stared at Scorch in silence for a moment, his pale white eyes delving into the goblin chief’s soul. Finally, a grin appeared on its face as it raised a taloned hand to strike the greenskin down. Scorch lowered his head, accepting his fate. It was clear to him this fiend had come to deliver his punishment. If his death could restore the tribe’s honor in the eyes of the scalemother, so be it. Before the sharp claws tore into his flesh, Scorch addressed the fiend once more.
“Make them suffer.”   Surprised, Hakato, assassin to the great Amamastor, held his attack.
“The marked ones? You wish for them to perish?”   Pure hatred filled the small goblin’s voice as he replied.
“I want them to feel pain. Lots of pain. I want them to scream so loud and hard that their throats bleed. And then, when their voices are gone, they can die, yes.”   Hakato reached for the goblin, but did not use his claws. He grabbed its head and, almost gently, pulled him closer.
“And what would you be willing to sacrifice to see that happen?”   Scorch looked up at the fiend, his toothy smile reaching further than ever before.
“Everything!”