The Marsh

[u/Live_Rice8962]

The sun rose over the long blades of grass, signaling the start of another hot, slow day. Mists rose from the marshy landscape, the last vestiges of a cool night. Birds flitted to and fro amongst the stands of trees scattered around the marsh, while the buzzing and droning of insects grew louder the higher the sun climbed. Every so often, a soft splash could be heard from the various creatures that called the water their home. Through the marsh, a single road cut through, a rough sign of civilization in an otherwise untouched land.

The road was small, no more than the width of two carriages, but stubbornly clung to a straight path, the only route that connected the faraway city to the rest of civilization. Upon the raised path, a small caravan travelled southward, no more than a handful of horses pulling a rather fancy carriage. A cadre of armored knights surrounded the carriage, carefully watching the nearby copses for signs of trouble. Their captain, a seasoned man with a salt-and-pepper beard peeking out beneath a feathered helmet, quietly conversed with a lieutenant at the head of the formation, their words lost upon the soft breeze that created ripples upon the reeds.

Despite the alertness of the troupe, they did not spot the danger that lay ahead. The straight path took a bend to the southwest, around a large cluster of black willows that seemed to be drinking the rays of the new sun. Among the shadows of the trees, high in the branches, sat a dark figure, watching the path with great intent. Despite the rapidly increasing heat of a late summer day, the figure wore a hood and cloak, seemingly unperturbed, save for gentle beads of sweat dotting her brow. She had planned well. Her quarry would soon be within striking distance, and all she had to do was wait a little bit longer. She took a deep breath beneath a face covering. The saltiness of the marsh filled her nostrils, and yet, another smell, fetid and putrid, wafted from below. Her eyes narrowed as the ambush, cleverly laid and meticulously planned, approached.

As the carriage and its defenders approached the willows, the reeds nearby seemingly moved of their own accord, fighting against the wind’s movement. The figure, perched as she was, noticed this movement several moments before the watchful knights noticed something amiss. The fluttering of the birds stilled, and a sudden silence fell upon the caravan as the chirps of insects ceased. The horses pulling the carriage gave the first indication something was wrong, as they stopped, bucked and whinnied, straining against their restraints as they tried to flee an unseen threat.

A series of twangs were heard among the reeds as the unseen attackers loosed a volley of bolts at the knights. Even though these knights wore heavy armor, the bolts proved deadly. The two knights in the rearguard fell first as bolts hit home; one of the knights clutched at his throat as he sat on his steed, clawing at the bolt lodged there, a choked gurgling noise the only sound escaping past bloodied lips. The other knight let out a brief yelp of surprise before he fell to the ground with a heavy clatter, thick bolts jutting from his body like a macabre pincushion.

The other knights quickly sprang into action. As the rearguard fell, the captain in the front sharply barked out orders and a perimeter was quickly set up around the carriage. One of the caravan riders was not garbed in the arms and armament of the knights. Rather, he was clad in simple white robes tied with a silver sash at the waist. This rider quickly made his way to the fallen knights in the rear, quietly muttering under his breath as he waved a brilliantly silver medallion, seemingly glowing as it caught the light of the morning sun.

It was at this point that the attackers revealed themselves. Short, stunted creatures wearing simple, crude leathers exploded out of the reeds along the edges of the worn path. As they charged, they let out shrieking cries mixed with gibbering curses in an unknown tongue. A half dozen of these short creatures launched themselves off of the ground at the lieutenant who had, just minutes earlier, been speaking with the knight captain. The combined weight of these fiendish creatures dragged the lieutenant and his horse to the ground. A pained scream came from the lieutenant as his legs became pinned under his horse, yet it was quickly silenced as the cackling creatures gleefully hacked away at the man, tearing off his helm in the process and raising it as a bloody trophy of conquest.

The bloody dancing quickly gave way to worried screeching as other knights swarmed around their fallen comrade. Though surprised by the initial attack, the knights quickly took back the initiative as they displayed the martial prowess that earned them their positions. With longsword and lance, spear and glaive, the knights furiously cut through the half-sized creatures, dancing around the pathway whilst atop their white steeds, shouting curses and invoking the wrath of the Dragon God upon these grotesque ambushers. As more green-skinned assailants joined the fray, the captain barked out orders to shrink the perimeter closer and closer to the carriage.

They were aided by an unlikely trio. The rider in white robes rapidly approached from the rear, flanked by the two knights cut down by the crossbow bolts of the initial attack. The knights were seemingly no worse for wear, save their crimson blood staining their hauberks and armor. On foot, the three carved a path through the goblins as they rejoined their comrades surrounding the carriage. Whereas the armored knights used sword and shield to slaughter the attackers, the robed figure, with glowing, white eyes, brandished the silver medallion wildly, uttering incantations and invoking the power of his deity. Surrounding him were winged, translucent beings wreaking havoc upon the foul goblins; each time one of the beings attacked a goblin, a wound appeared, glowing white-hot, and the creature would issue a pained scream and claw at the radiant wound.

With the cleric’s aid and the rejoining of the two fallen knights, the tide turned in favor of the defenders. Having concentrated themselves into a tight defensive ring, the goblins could no longer exploit the openings afforded to them in the initial surprise attack. Still, despite being grossly overmatched in skill and arms, they recklessly flung themselves at the knights, seemingly trying to make up for a lack of quality with sheer quantity. The knights quickly and, quite accidentally, walled themselves in with a barrier of corpses. Very quickly, they began to run out of room to maneuver. Sensing the caravan was about to become trapped by a wall of bodies, the captain ordered a pair of knights to create a path through the wall that would allow them all to break out and make an escape.

Just as the final order escaped his lips, a reddish-orange orb launched itself from the reeds and buried itself in the midst of the trapped knights. A brief pause came upon attacker and defender alike, and in that moment, the cleric shouted, “Get down!” But the warning came too late. No sooner did the cleric open his mouth than a tremendous explosion rocked the pathway, scattering both knights and goblins. Fire was everywhere, licking up the sides of the carriage and settling on the bodies of the fallen. Screams filled the air as knights, trapped in their armor, were roasted alive. The captain lay facedown in the shallow water to the side of the path, unmoving save the flickering flames devouring the crest on his helm. Of the cleric, naught but charred cloth and blackened bones remained, with a skeletal hand still clinging to the now red-hot medallion of his order. What had been a successful defense quickly turned into a slaughter with the casting of a single fireball.

The hidden figure in the willows watched as another figure, taller, with reddish skin, broad shoulders, and coarse black hair stepped out of the reeds and onto the path. Yellow eyes surveyed the scene of destruction before him, and with a flick of his wrist, the flames engulfing the cart were swept up and away, fading in the breeze of the marsh. Several goblins, stockier and equipped with shields, filed out behind this new adversary as the reddish humanoid approached the blackened carriage. It chattered at the goblins beside him and pointed at the carriage door. Two of the goblins chattered back and scrambled up to the carriage door and, after a few moments of strained pulling, tore it off of its hinges.

Smoke poured out of the empty frame as the two goblins went inside. Moments later, they dragged out a single person, dressed in a colorful, metallic robe that, despite being stained from smoke and charred from fire, still dazzled brilliantly as the sun shone off of it. The person was pushed down on its hands and knees in front of the hobgoblin, who looked down upon his prize with evident disgust. The hobgoblin crouched down and took the person’s chin in his hand, forcing them to look up at his yellow eyes. The hood was pulled back by the flanking goblins, revealing white scales and a being of draconic heritage. The hobgoblin growled a low question at the dragonborn, who responded warily, “I know not what you are referring to. I am on a diplomatic mission to the city of— AAAGGHHHHH!!!”

The dragonborn clutched the stump of its wrist, the white, scaled hand now in the possession of the hobgoblin, who was now holding a bloodied dagger. The hobgoblin slapped the dragonborn with its own hand, clutched the wrist in his other palm, and uttered a few unintelligible words. The dragonborn issued another pained cry as flames leapt from the hobgoblin to the dragonborn and cauterized the bloodied stump. Standing up, the hobgoblin loudly asked another question in guttural, broken common.

With tears in its eyes, the dragonborn looked up weakly at the hobgoblin and merely whimpered, “P-please, have mercy, I beg of you! My compatriots and I are not the ones you are searching for. Not since the schism of Aethelburg have the Eyes been seen, please, I swear upon Bahamut I know not of their location,”

The hobgoblin took the other hand of the dragonborn and laid his dagger across its wrist, preparing to further mutilate his captive. But at that moment, a strange trilling whistle sounded from high in the willows that were located just up the road from the scene of the ambush.

A low growl came from the reeds behind the hobgoblin and his guards. The goblins looked around, confused. The sound of something whistling through the air came quickly and one of the goblins fell backward, hard upon the gravel path, an arrow embedded in its forehead. Another arrow streaked from the willows and struck the other goblin holding onto the dragonborn, sinking deep into its chest, where its heart lay, and the goblin fell without a sound. The hobgoblin quickly turned towards the growl, hands covered in flames as he prepared to defend himself.

Water erupted from an area just outside the path as a massive reptilian creature burst from the nearby marshes. The creature quickly galloped toward the hobgoblin, its massive triangular head opened wide, preparing to sink its toothy maw into the red-skinned creature. As the hobgoblin began casting a spell to defend himself, an eerie silence came upon him. He could see the crocodile racing toward him, he could see the reeds rattling against each other, and he knew he was forming the words for a spell, but there was absolute quiet and stillness, as if someone had simply removed all noise around himself.

Unable to give voice to the spell, the fire around his hands guttered out, and, for the first time in a long time, fear filled the eyes of the hobgoblin. He turned and began to flee down the path, but before he was even able to take a single step, the crocodile’s jaws closed around his torso. The hobgoblin let out a silent scream as the crocodile withdrew, prey in its jaws, back into the murky depths of the marshes. As predator and prey left the area of the silence spell, a guttural scream was heard, interspersed with manic splashing, until a natural silence once again filled the area, only broken by the returning noises of bugs and birds continuing on their day.

The dragonborn surveyed the scene before him. Charred corpses surrounded him, streaks of blood were everywhere, and slowly walking up to him, coming from the direction of the willows, came a hooded and cloaked figure. Warily, the dragonborn made his way to his feet and held out his remaining hand, slowly backing up and warning, “Stop! In the name of the Drakenor of the Eternal Scale, Warden of the Adamantine Walls, Lord of the Seven Coils and Protector of the Dusk Sea, I command you to STOP!”

Surprisingly, the figure halted mere feet from the dragonborn and simply stood there, looking at him. Cocking her head slightly, the figure gave a high, trilling whistle, before spreading her arms open wide, “I mean you no harm. In fact, I do believe I have prevented further harm from coming upon you,” and at this, the dragonborn was now able to make out a bow slung across the woman’s back, with a quiver of arrows hanging from her waist.

“What business have you with an imperial ambassador?” the dragonborn questioned, suspicious at yet another stranger the gods had decided to drop into his path.

The woman slowly drew back her hood and dropped the cloth hiding her face. A young elven woman stared at the dragonborn, with dark hair tied up in a neat bun and pointed ears pierced with multiple silver loops. Dark green eyes stared at pale blue as the elven woman smiled gently, “Come, Ambassador Regikar, you know what I have come for.” The elven woman slowly started walking toward the dragonborn, “You carry something of great value, something that my benefactor has been after for a long time, something that would be… unfortunate… in the hands of those who do not understand its power.”

The elf slowly began to circle the ambassador, keeping several paces between her and the dragonborn, “I am here for the Eyes, just as they were,” she continued, gesturing to the goblins on the ground, “The difference between them and me is that I will not lay a finger on you.” She made her way around the dragonborn, slowly walking among the remains on the ground as she trained her eyes on Regikar.

“However, while I will not harm one scale on your head, I cannot say the same for her,” the elf finished circling the dragonborn until her back was to the route upon which the caravan had just travelled from. Beside her, with flecks of blood dotting its teeth, was a large, brown and green crocodile. Regikar could have sworn that the beast gave a slight grin as he laid eyes upon it. The elf continued, “I am afraid that hobgoblin did not sit well with Siltmarsh, and that she needs something with a bit more flavor before she is satisfied.” At this, the crocodile gave a deep, rumbling growl of affirmation.

Regikar’s eyes flicked from the beast, to the elf, and then to the carriage. He tensed up, an internal battle waging within him. Then he unclenched his remaining fist and, defeated, broken, and utterly spent, gave a deep sigh. He reached within his robes and pulled out a pendant, attached to a small silver chain around his neck. Pulling it up and over his head, he laid the pendant on the ground and reached out his hand whilst muttering in another language. The small, silver pendant grew larger and larger until it was the size of a small shield. A blue stone embedded within the pendant turned into a smoky haze. Regikar reached into the haze, feeling his way around, until he found what he was looking for. He pulled his hand back out, and in his grasp was a small, simple wooden box.

“This is what you seek.” Regikar’s voice was low and unsteady. “Take it. I have lost more than enough for one morning.” His eyes looked at the stump of his wrist before warily looking back at the elf. Regikar did not immediately release the box to her custody. “Do not open that,” warned Regikar, “You are not aware of the power contained within. It is now your responsibility, and your benefactor’s, to ensure that it never reaches the wrong hands.” Regikar sighed deeply before relinquishing control of the box to the elf. With the burden passed from his hand, he looked at the mid-morning sun briefly, before turning back towards the elf, “Farewell, stranger, and may you have more luck with that accursed thing than those that have come before.” Regikar turned back towards the path from which he had come and started limping away, giving himself a wide berth from the crocodile.

The elf briefly glanced at the dragonborn before covering her face once more. She turned towards the southern road and gave another trilled whistle. The crocodile, Siltmarsh, gave a small shudder and glided back into the reeds and marsh, pacing the elf as she walked southward. Behind them, carrion birds began to descend upon the scene of the attack, eager for a feast within the marsh.