ROTR Session 14

When it all goes to shit

The Goblin chieftain lounged lazily on his crude throne, a grin stretching ear to ear as he watched his lackeys cavort before him. The goblins leapt, shrieked, and stabbed at the air while the warchanter once again glorified their raid on the Human village. With a satisfied grunt, the chieftain reached for a goblet of stolen wine.
Then he heard the baying of the hounds.
A chill crept down the chieftain spine. The priestess would not be pleased that he had allowed intruders to slip through.

  The archaeologist slumped against the wooden chest she had shoved in front of the door. Fighting back tears proved pointless. Perhaps the barricade was just as futile. Her thoughts drifted to Tsuto—dead before he ever returned her affection. She wondered how differently things might have gone if the intruders had spared him and slain Nualia instead.
Then she heard the baying of the hounds.
All the archaeologist could do was hope the beasts would avenge Tsuto in her place.

  The mercenary had been idly running a whetstone over his blade for hours. He hadn’t been allowed to join the first raid on Sandpoint. The second—and final—raid couldn’t come soon enough. Life as a bodyguard was a dull exercise when there was nothing to guard the body from.
Then he heard the baying of the hounds.
With a sharp motion, the mercenary swung his sword, as if slicing through the shackles of boredom, and rose to action.

  The bugbear had been entertaining himself with the chieftain’s wives for days. If the Goblin leader had no use for them, he certainly did. Inside the harem chamber, he spun them around his thick fingers with ease.
Then he heard the baying of the hounds.
The bugbear cursed, scrambling for his discarded clothes and armor.

Round 1

Rabie's knees nearly gave way as the unnatural howling tore through the chamber, vibrating in his bones and rattling his soul. Through stinging, tear-blurred eyes, he looked up at the twin hounds pacing the air above the altar platform—gliding effortlessly, as if the air itself bore their weight. A frantic glance to his companions confirmed what he already felt in his gut: Vannrik and Jinx both glistened with sweat, brows furrowed in shared dread. Cletus nearly wavered, a foot unconsciously retreating. Even Andromeda—graceful, composed—floated just above the floor, her poise dimmed by the oppressive presence.
His ears rang with the aftermath of the baying. For a moment, it felt as if that accursed sound could be heard as far as Sandpoint.
This was bad.
Still, Andromeda surged forward, her form cutting through the heavy air as Cletus began to chant. One of the hounds dove from above, a streak of menace, its jaws clamping down hard on her. A cry of pain rang out—raw and fierce—from the tiefling still standing in the hallway.
Rabie swallowed hard. He forced himself forward, each step like pushing through a storm. He plunged a hand into his pack, fingers fumbling for the worn scroll. The parchment crackled as he unrolled it, ancient glyphs dancing in the crimson light. Chanting the invocation with trembling resolve, he finished the last syllable just as a sphere of flame roared into being beneath the beast.
The hound lurched away, howling in its own right, smoke curling from its singed fur. The scent of burning hair mingled with the bitter incense of the braziers, as the fire lit the altar chamber with a new and terrible glow.
Jinx’s three eyes scanned the chaos with measured urgency. He wouldn't retreat—not yet—but neither would he charge blindly. Every flicker of movement, every step of the beasts, was cataloged in his calculating gaze.
They were Yeth Hounds.
Wicked, airborne beasts bred for the hunt and blood-bound to evil masters. Sleek, lean, and coiled with predatory tension, they floated above the ground with eerie grace. Oversized ears twitched at every sound. Their paws barely stirred the air. Though they wore the form of monstrous canines, Jinx knew better than to dismiss them as beasts. They were intelligent—dangerously so. Rarely did they speak, but their tactics told a story: cunning predators that enjoyed not just the kill, but the terror before it. Their bone-chilling bays were not merely noise; they were weapons of fear, designed to break spirits before bodies.
Yet for all their bulk, Jinx also remembered this: they did not possess as much fortitude as would appear.
He slipped a hand onto Cletus’ arm, voice low and urgent. “Grant me your powers.”
The tiefling blinked at him, brow creasing. “What?”
Jinx gave him a sly wink. Already his fingers were weaving through invisible threads of power, his voice lifting in arcane cadence. In the space beside him, a shimmering form materialized—an echo of Andromeda, summoned into being by magic and will. Gleaming with spectral brilliance, the spiritual weapon surged forward toward the hound assailing its inspiration.
The beast twisted midair, evading the strike with unnatural ease. The blade sliced only empty space.
Jinx’s jaw tightened. Attacking something airborne felt like fencing smoke.
“It doesn’t work for me, yet,” he muttered, as the gleaming weapon floated back to his side like a loyal but, for now, ineffective guardian. Vannrik sprinted past the returning spectral blade, surging into the temple behind Andromeda and Rabie. His breath was steady, focus razor-sharp. With a sweeping gesture, icy needles shimmered into existence at his fingertips. He thrust his hand forward, launching the frost-tipped shards into the nearest beast. The projectiles sank deep into its hide, enough to anchor them With a sudden jerk of his arm, the kineticist dragged the creature forward—away from Andromeda and toward his grasp.

Round 2

From the corner of his eye, Cletus caught movement. At the southern end of the hallway where he still stood, a door burst open. A small figure—was it a naked Goblin?—with tangled black hair darted into the shadows, vanishing from view. The tiefling's gut tightened. This place was far more inhabited—and far more sprawling—than he'd expected.
Back in the fray, Andromeda was in trouble.
The second hound had found its opening, this one firmly grounded. It surged in from behind, its powerful jaws clamping around her, fangs grinding into the steel of her winged handguards. The sound of warping metal rang out as the creature whipped its neck back and forth, flinging her like a plaything. Then, with a snarl, it slammed her into the stone floor, pinning her with terrifying strength.
“Cletus, don’t you dare to heal me!” the blade screamed in defiance. “Offense is the best defense! Give me a boost!”
Cletus coughed, red splattering the flagstones at his feet. Pain coiled through his ribs like a hot iron, but he didn’t hesitate. “I hope you know what you are doing—”
His voice broke as he reached inward, summoning the power of his spirit and funneling it into Andromeda.
The surge hit her like a jolt of lightning. Strength surged through her steel, and with a fierce growl, she slipped free of the hound’s crushing grip. But instead of turning on the grounded beast, she pivoted—rolling beneath the floating Yeth Hound above.
Her blade flicked upward, severing two of its paws in a clean, fluid motion. As the creature reeled, she twisted low, then drove her sword upward in a brutal thrust straight into its exposed belly. With a savage wrench to the right, she tore through muscle and sinew.
A ragged gash split the beast wide, its entrails spilling in a sickening torrent onto the crimson-streaked stone. It hung in the air for a breathless moment—limp, twitching—then sagged in place, suspended grotesquely five feet off the floor, blood pouring in rivulets beneath it.
Something tore attention away from the carnage above. Rabie broke into a fit of manic laughter, his cackles echoing through the chamber like a mad chorus. With a twisted flick of his wrist, he sent the flaming sphere rolling toward the second hound.
"Yes, Rabie!" cried Andromeda, slick with gore. "Send them back to hell! Let them taste the fire!"
The sphere advanced—slow, deliberate, and unstoppable. As its path burned forward, Rabie summoned the raw energy of the void. Shadowy tendrils curled from his fingertips, slithering toward the beast and leeching its strength with each touch. As his laughter finally ebbed, a translucent shield shimmered into existence before him, pulsing with protective force.
"Let's join the party!" Jinx shouted, dashing into the fray. His spectral blade hovered beside him, a gleaming echo of Andromeda. With a sweep of his hand, the weapon darted forward, slashing deep into the hound’s flank.
Vannrik rushed to Andromeda’s side. Despite her inhuman form, the herbalist had studied the strange bond between Eidolon and summoner closely enough to understand it. With a fluid motion, he summoned the balm of the ocean. A cool wave of restorative magic cascaded over the blade, washing away the gore and sealing cracks in her shimmering form. Somewhere behind her, he knew Cletus's injuries were mending as well.
Without pause, Vannrik uncorked a small vial and applied a salve of his own making—an herbal concoction known for mirroring the effects of divine restoration. The healing continued, steady and efficient.

Round 3

The final hound would not relent. Whether it was hatred for Andromeda’s divine nature or simply blind rage, the beast launched itself at her with renewed fury. Jaws snapped with each lunge, but every time they closed, she had already moved. It was as if Iomedae herself guided her steps.
Andromeda capitalized on every missed bite. Her counterattacks were swift and precise. One thrust tore deep into the hound’s shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain—it could feel pain.
Cletus stepped into the temple, his eyes narrowing as he took in the battlefield. From his new vantage point, he watched as Andromeda ducked beneath the hound and stabbed upward. Her blade pierced its hindquarters, and the beast spun to face its tormentor.
It never got the chance to strike.
Rabie’s flaming sphere slammed into its side, launching the creature into one of the stone pillars. Fire and fury engulfed it. The hound screamed, the sound twisting into a final, hollow rasp. Its charred form crumpled and sprawled across the bloodstained floor.
A heavy silence followed—brief and brittle. The only witness to their defiance stood motionless: the towering statue of Lamashtu, cloaked in smoke and shadows, her twin kukris still flickering with blue and red unholy flame.
"Quick, we must extinguish those unholy flames!" Andromeda cried, her voice cutting through the stillness. "It will cripple the morale of all goblins here."
Rabie glanced at the floating blade, then back to the altar. It was hard to argue. He strode forward, embers crunching beneath his boots, and grasped the statue’s leg with both hands. He pulled, muscles straining, but the eight-foot block of blackened stone remained immovable—unyielding in its devotion to the dark goddess.
Jinx stepped up beside it, eyeing the statue’s three-eyed face. He brought a hand to his chin, contemplative. His own third eye blinked slowly. Was there meaning in the resemblance? A deeper connection? The thought unsettled him. "It’s all a lie!" he barked suddenly, as if to banish the idea. His conjured blade zipped forward, slashing at the statue’s face—but the blow only glanced off, dulled by ancient, defiled stone.
At the edge of the chamber, Vannrik remained on guard. His grip tightened around his shield as he stepped back into the hallway. From beyond the gloom, he heard it—hard boots striking stone, drawing closer.
"Haha, finally something to do in this place!"
Vannrik ducked into a defensive stance just around the bend, breath held, shield raised.
The footsteps quickened. A figure burst from the darkness—Human, broad-shouldered, clad in battered splint and leather. The mercenary nearly barreled straight into him, a wild grin stretching across his face like it had been waiting for this moment for days.
"Oh, this is going to be fun!"
With a roar, he hoisted a massive shield shaped like a giant’s face, the metal twisted into a grotesque sneer. His bastard sword came crashing down, slamming into Vannrik’s wooden shield with a teeth-rattling clang.

Round 4

Cletus stepped into the doorway, his silhouette framed by the pulsing red glow of the temple's braziers. The hellish light licked across his horns, casting jagged shadows over his ashen skin and deepening the purple undertones in his demonic features. With his eyes gleaming like coals, he bellowed:
"Fool! These intruders are trying to penetrate the temple of Lamashtu! And you're trying to kill them outside of the temple's confines? Nualia wants them offered at the altar."
The mercenary skidded to a confused halt, brow furrowed as he glanced at the Tiefling.
"Drop your weapon idiot! Or Nualia will hear of this!"
"But they aren't subdued yet..." the mercenary muttered, hesitation slipping into his voice. The words sank in—yes, they were to be taken alive, for sacrifice. He slowly cracked a grin. "Will you help me in subduing them?"
"You hold them, and drag them into the temple. And I will take care of their throats. The way it is meant to be."
Cletus raised a clenched fist, his voice soaked in deceit. "Long live Lamashtu."
Jinx stood atop the raised platform, eyes still fixed on the looming statue of Lamashtu. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face the intruder, drawing back his hood to reveal the third eye in the center of his forehead. It gleamed in the red haze.
"I'm a descendant of Lamashtu," he proclaimed, his voice cutting through the chamber. "BRING THEM HERE."
Vannrik burst into the room, eyes sweeping for his companions—Andromeda and Rabie were nowhere to be seen. The mercenary was right behind him.
In the center of the bloodstained floor, Vannrik planted his feet and braced, raising his shield like a fortress. The Jadwiga knew the clash was inevitable.
The mercenary was on him in a heartbeat, barreling forward like a siege engine. He didn’t slow down, didn’t bother with cover—just raised his bastard sword high and brought it crashing down. The impact rattled Vannrik to the bone, nearly tearing the shield from his grasp.
"Thank you for not making this easy!" the man bellowed, grinning savagely.
"Come get him, Demonman."

Round 5

Andromeda and Rabie emerged from behind the pillars, encircling their quarry.
"Alright, Cletus, I've got to hand you this one," Andromeda said as she slid into position. "You got him here. Now let’s see how steady you are on your feet!"
The blade swept in low, aiming for the mercenary’s ankles—but he wasn’t so easily toppled. His armored shinguard crashed against the weapon, kicking it aside with a clang.
The mercenary turned toward Cletus, his eyes narrowing, fury rising. "Decei—"
He never finished.
His back hit the floor with a thunderous thud. Andromeda had recovered from the deflection faster than he'd expected, and slammed him down for daring to turn his back.
"Sorry!" Cletus said, already channeling his magic. His clenched fist pulsed with infernal energy as a splitting pain exploded in the mercenary’s head.
"Turns out I’m not a follower of Lamashtu after all."
Rabie’s voice slithered in next, the witch weaving his own spell over the fallen warrior. "This temple will be your grave."
The mercenary groaned, struggling to his knees, his head pounding as though split by an axe. His vision swam, but he managed to focus—first on the traitorous tiefling, then on the Gnome with the third, unblinking eye. Recognition flared too late.
The Gnome was part of it.
Jinx, composed as ever, drew a card from the Hammer’s deck. Lightning tore from the heavens, a blinding lance that crashed down with a deafening crack.
The mercenary screamed through clenched teeth as the current coursed through him, lighting up every nerve in his body. Pain surged like wildfire—but it also cleared the fog from his mind. He threw himself to the side, rolling just as the Gnome’s spectral blade hissed past, cleaving the space where he had lain a heartbeat before.
The air still hummed with energy, the scent of ozone thick around him. The only thing sharper than the sting of lightning was the realization: he’d been played.
  "Thank you for making this easy on us," Vannrik said, unable to hide the smirk curling his lips. A spear of ice formed in his palm, and with a sharp thrust, he drove it between the splints of the mercenary’s armor.
With a violent gesture, Vannrik hurled him across the chamber. The man crashed into a pillar, denting the stone with his weight. Bloodied but defiant, he pushed himself upright, spitting crimson onto the floor. "We’ll see who’s easy," he snarled.
A second spear jabbed into his side, loosening his grip on his bastard sword—but he didn’t flinch. His focus burned singular and sharp.
He shoved past Andromeda with brute strength, barreling toward Cletus.
"DECEIVER!" he howled.
The blade slashed deep, cutting into the tiefling’s side. Cletus reeled, pain flashing in his eyes.
The mercenary’s laughter rang out—harsh, unhinged—and beneath it came another sound. Faint at first, then louder. Screeching. Excited, eager.
More were coming.

Round 6

Despite their strained relationship, Andromeda would not let harm come to her companion. She lunged after the mercenary, her blade slipping through a seam in his armor and biting deep into the exposed leather joint.
In the chaos, Cletus edged backward. He pointed to a vacant space behind the warrior, mouth parting to deliver another lie—but the words died on his lips. The game was up. His ruse had run its course.
From across the chamber, Rabie’s eyes burned with an unnatural purple glow. He raised a hand, fingers curling with practiced precision. “Your time is fleeting,” he intoned. Shadows twisted into motion, leeching strength from the mercenary’s limbs. His movements slowed, his strikes turning heavy and clumsy—yet it only deepened the fire of hatred in his eyes. He fought not with skill, but sheer wrath.
Jinx closed the distance, his third eye wide and glaring. “Lamashtu despises you!” he spat. The words struck deeper than they should have. For a man not steeped in piety, the thought of dying in the very temple he’d failed to defend—abandoned by the goddess of monsters herself—was a chilling one. Was this to be his end? Would he wake in her nightmarish realm?
Jinx's spiritual blade darted in, slashing low. It sliced clean through the splint-mail across his abdomen. Blood sprayed in a sweeping arc, pooling fast beneath his feet. Only the crushed integrity of his armor kept his insides from spilling out. His pallor shifted, face drained of color, eyes wide with primal fear.
He scanned the room.
Searching for a way out.
His voice cracked as he tried to speak. The tiefling stood between him and the hall—unarmed, defenseless. Maybe, just maybe, if he was quick—
The world vanished into black.

  A low thud echoed through the temple.
Vannrik stood still, watching the mercenary’s legs twitch. He was grateful he couldn’t see the damage his conjured ball of ice had done to the man’s skull. The warped helmet told enough of the story. Blood and brain matter seeped into the snow and rigid ice.
Without a word, Vannrik turned toward the southern corridor. The goblins were coming—he could hear their high-pitched screeches growing louder, their excitement rising with each step. He sprinted down the hall, boots slamming against stone, until the passage widened into a broad chamber lined with rickety doors.
He stopped short.
One door stood ajar.
Inside, a hulking, fur-covered figure scrambled to dress—thick arms jamming into crude armor, tusked jaws snapping in frustration. A bugbear. Big. Quick.
But between Vannrik and the beast loomed a more immediate threat.
More than half a dozen goblins had already spilled into the room, shrieking and brandishing jagged weapons, their yellow eyes gleaming in the brazier light.
Vannrik was going to need help. "GOBLINS!" He warned to the others.

Round 7

Cletus clutched at his bleeding side, grimacing as the pain burned through him. He could hear Vannrik’s voice ahead—a warning, a cry for help—but the Jadwiga would have to hold the line for now. The tiefling had picked up a few divine phrases from Andromeda, enough to fake a prayer. With a dry cough, he muttered, “Praise Aroden, andsoforth, heal thy servant andsoforth, blahlahblah…”
The words were nonsense—the god Aroden was long dead—but the magic still flowed. Warmth surged through his wound, knitting flesh together.
“It’s Iomedae, the Inheritor,” Andromeda corrected, barely sparing him a glance as she stabbed her blade through the fallen mercenary’s shield strap. With a forceful yank, she ripped the shield free and hefted it alongside her, sprinting after Vannrik.
Rabie was close behind. He wasn’t usually one to shout encouragement in battle, but the moment seemed to demand it. “Vannrik, you’ve got this! Hold on!”
Jinx followed swiftly, weaving through the scattered corpses of the Yeth Hounds and past the cooling body of the mercenary. As he ran, he stooped low, grabbing a spear from the man’s shoulder strap. The Gnome strapped it on his back, replacing a staff. “Catch!” he called, hurling the staff from the Goblin druid to Rabie without breaking stride.
Vannrik stepped into the open chamber. Eight goblins faced him—seven wielding rusted dogslicers and one larger brute brandishing a horsechopper in both hands. The Jadwiga’s eyes narrowed, gauging the layout. With a quick motion, he summoned a flurry of frost. Snowflakes exploded into a whirling blizzard, blanketing the room.
Chaos erupted.
The goblins shrieked and scattered. One was hurled against a rotting door in the southeastern corner by the sheer force of the wind. The others scrambled blindly through the snow, disoriented.
Still, they pressed forward.
The first Goblin broke through the storm and slashed Vannrik’s leg with a jagged dogslicer, squealing with glee at the sight of blood. Another vaulted forward, using his horsechopper as a makeshift pole to launch himself across the snow blanket. He landed near a western door, barking orders. “We need to surround them!” he howled, his words dragging two more goblins with him into a shadowy side corridor.
A third Goblin lunged at Vannrik but found his blade snagged on the kineticist’s shield, splinte flying as metal scraped wood.
The Goblin flung against the southeastern door staggered upright, dazed. His dogslicer was lost in the snow. Trembling, he slung a shortbow from his back and loosed a flurry of arrows. None found their mark—each one skittered harmlessly off Vannrik’s leather armor or vanished into the snowstorm. But it wasn't over. Vannrik saw that the bugbear had grabbed his weapon.

Round 8

With the tip of her blade, Andromeda balanced the large steel shield aloft as she made her way down the hallway. “I’m coming to you, Vannrik! Hold on!” she called.
She darted past him in a blur of motion. With a flick of her wrist, the blade extended the shield toward the Jadwiga. Vannrik caught it mid-stride, his hand snapping around the grip with practiced ease. Freed from the burden of the heavy steel, Andromeda struck with ruthless precision. Her weightless form spun like a whirlwind, slicing through the two goblins harrying Vannrik. Both fell, lifeless, before they even understood the tide had turned.
Rabie followed close behind. He took position just behind Vannrik and the hovering blade, his fingers already working through the motions of his next spell. Amid the confusion of bleeding goblins and scrambling foes, his eyes locked on a single target—the hulking figure lingering in the southern hamer chamber beyond, longbow in hand. Shadowy tendrils crept along the stone floor, curling from the corners of the room. They snaked up the beast’s legs, wrapping tight around its limbs.
“De fok is dis?!” the bugbear bellowed. His deep voice reverberated through the stone, but there was strain in it now. His thick, matted hide broke out in angry welts where the shadows touched him, his skin blotched and rashy.
Still, the brute didn’t hesitate. He raised his longbow, ignoring the goblins retreating at his feet and even the blue-tuniced man standing in the open. He leveled the weapon directly at the witch. The arrow flew. It struck Rabie square in the upper chest with a sickening punch. The bugbear’s twisted grin spread wider, pride gleaming behind his yellowed tusks.
Jinx slipped past Rabie and Vannrik, weaving through the wreckage of the battle. He passed through into the disheveled room, deeper into the enemy’s lair. One chamber farther, the bugbear stood in the gloom, framed by a rickety door and weeping Goblin wives. The Gnome’s third eye fixed on him, unblinking. Whatever courage the bugbear had, the sight of the unsettling creature unsettled it.
Vannrik had no time to strap on his new shield. He surged forward instead, harnessing the fleeting momentum. Icy needles coalesced around him, sharp and humming with kinetic force. With a single, slicing motion, he flung them toward the beast. All three struck deep, burying themselves in the bugbear’s chest.
All around him, shrieks erupted—the wails of the Goblin wives caught in the chaos.
Then, with a sharp pull of his hand, Vannrik yanked the icy spikes back. The needles didn’t return alone—they dragged the bugbear with them, scraping across the floor, heels furrowing stone, dragging him to the door.
Back in the disheveled chamber, the sounds of fighting echoed loud and clear. The trio of goblins that had split off earlier now returned, having heard the screams and chaos. One threw the door open wide.
And ran straight into Jinx.
The Gnome tilted his head, smiling sweetly. His voice was calm, almost innocent.
“You wouldn’t hurt me now, would you?”
The Goblin leader hesitated. Jinx’s oddly calm, almost plaintive words had cut through the heat of battle. The would-be killing blow faltered, turning what should’ve been a gutting strike into a shallow scrape along the Gnome’s arm.
The leader’s uncertainty rippled through his followers. One of the goblins in the hallway narrowed his eyes at the delay and took matters into his own hands. He wriggled between his commander and the wall, swinging his dogslicer with reckless abandon. Jinx, nimble and eerily composed, ducked and sidestepped every wild swipe.
“DUCK! QUACK QUACK!” another Goblin shouted from down the corridor. The others obeyed without question, dropping into a crouch. Two arrows zipped over their heads and descended upon the Gnome—but luck, or perhaps some divine trickster’s favor, was still with Jinx. Both arrows thunked into the rotten doorframe, harmlessly off-mark.
Back in the chamber, three arrows clattered uselessly around Vannrik’s feet. The last Goblin—still huddled in the southeast corner—realized just how alone he was. His courage broke. With a panicked screech, he bolted through the door behind him, vanishing into the depths of the fortress.

Round 9

Vannrik stood in the doorway to the harem chamber, where the bugbear and three shrieking Goblin women were holed up. Andromeda needed to get past him. With agile movement, she zigzagged around the Jadwiga and even slipped past Bruthazmus himself.
“By the Inheritor, I’ve got you!” she declared, the floating blade sailing into the cluttered den of ragged cushions, lumpy pillows, and mangy dogskin furs.
The bugbear spun to face her, trying to wedge his bow between himself and the oncoming threat—but too slow. Andromeda’s weapon left a deep gash across his chest.
Behind them, Rabie barely registered Cletus slipping by to join the fray. The witch was mid-incantation, empowering the writhing shadows that tore at the bugbear’s flesh. Overhead, Ghurab cawed in cruel amusement.
The creature’s life and mass drained rapidly. So much so, his hastily donned leather pants began to sag around his waist. Bruthazmus, wide-eyed and pale with fear, glanced toward the adjoining chamber—but all he could see was the witch’s glowing purple eyes.
Panicked, he slammed the door shut and leaned what remained of his bulk against it, as if that could keep the shadows at bay. Better to face the blade than that gaze.
“I’ll have you know,” Andromeda warned, now locked in the room with him and the cowering Goblin wives, “I will not be partaking in any of your games!”
There was no time to switch weapons. With what little dexterity remained, the bugbear fumbled with his longbow and loosed a desperate shot. Despite the close range, the arrow struck Andromeda squarely on the hilt, knocking her off balance.
Meanwhile, three goblins were still trying to get to Jinx. But the Gnome had a plan.
He whispered a stream of sly, poisonous lies into his balled fist, then blew the words toward them. The spell curled into the Goblin commander’s mind, planting seeds of deep paranoia. The little creature glanced warily at his own allies, unsure if they could be trusted.
With a smirk, Jinx quietly shut the door between them.
Where one door closes, Vannrik opens another.
With a mighty kick, he burst through the rickety entrance to the harem. Gripping a warhammer of solid ice, he raised it high. The bugbear would not flee again.
The swing came crashing down—but Bruthazmus, driven by desperation or dumb luck, slipped aside just in time. The hammer struck the ground, detonating into a burst of jagged ice shards. Vannrik grimaced. He was not used to weapons this unwieldy.
Outside, Jinx heard shouting—goblins turning on one another. Then the door burst open, and the two minions fled past him. One scrambled toward the snow-covered stairwell, while the other darted into the central southern door—passing between the harem and the path of the earlier fleeing Goblin.

Round 10

Andromeda heard Cletus shouting from the chamber beyond.
“Come on, Andromeda! Just do your thing already!”
“With pleasure,” she replied, her voice cutting with confidence. “Let me show you a trueborn’s touch.”
The blade floated higher. Her words snapped Bruthazmus’s attention away from Vannrik—just for a second. But it was all she needed.
In the blink of an eye, the weapon darted forward, slicing horizontally through the air. The bugbear froze. A thin red line bloomed across the loose folds of skin at his throat.
A heartbeat later, the line split open.
A fine mist of blood sprayed across the chamber—over the matted cushions, the peeling walls, and the Goblin women who shrieked and cowered beneath the crimson rain.

Then, cutting through the screams and the settling silence, the sound of a warhorn echoed up from the stairwell.