Clear the Valley The Adventures of Gruzzon and Glorf - Pt 1

Gruzzon slammed his (nearly) empty bottle of Sake down on the long wooden table. "Today, my friend, we will drive this devilish band of Goblins back to their wasteland of a town once and for all. Let the streets run red with their blood, and the sky be full of their cries, and by tomorrow morn, our valley will be at peace once again.” His sun-soaked, noble face radiated an unflappable determination as he spoke. His earthen brown eyes were flanked by the bright gold of his helm, as vibrant purple horns branched out boldly on both sides. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked down the table at his compatriot Glorf. Ever the quieter of the pair, he sat motionless. His brilliant blue and yellow armor only partly covered his body, which boasted a dark, muscular frame. How many foes had perished by the edge of his gleaming Blue Longsword? He instilled both apprehension and admiration through the gleam of his red, sunken eyes.

Gruzzon and Glorf walked out of the small tavern into the golden glow of a summer evening. The pair strode down the street in what felt like slow motion. A crooked pinwheel spun lazily in front of a repair shop. A trio of buzzing flies showed great interest in the contents of a farmer’s cart. The two mighty Warriors travelled southward. The valley they approached had once been a quaint, undisturbed place, but bands of Goblins had been camping farther and farther out from their town. For the past two months, perhaps longer, they had infested this valley with their foulness. A cold stream that had been a sanctuary for fishermen from several nearby villages was defiled. The rabbits and deer that roamed that place had either fled, or were hunted for sport. The once crisp air now sat heavy with an unsavory stench. This odor gave fair warning to Gruzzon and Glorf, who stopped on the side of the path to make final preparations for the raid. The last rays of sun were fleeting as the pair sharpened their swords and tightened their armor.

The soothing shades of evening melted into the black monolith of night. A solemn birdsong echoed through the forest and faded away. A soft rain began to fall, creating a din of a million droplets crash landing on shadowy leaves and branches. This place felt hollowed out, as if any speck of life who lingered in the valley had been swallowed whole by the damp ground. This might have been believable, and the world itself may have given up hope, if it weren’t for two silent shapes moving through the night. Two resolute Warriors, with drawn swords and steeled eyes, were striding, gliding, down the hill. Gruzzon and Glorf had already made up their mind that this raid was the right thing to do, and both had accepted death as a natural consequence of battle long ago. There was nothing to generate second thoughts; indeed thoughts of any type seemed inconsequential at this moment and gave way to a Zen-like state of present moment alertness. Up ahead, at the bottom of the valley, coals from a campfire recently gone out were emitting a faint glow, enough to outline the shapes of several tents. The pair of warriors, who had been moving side by side, diverged and crept towards opposite sides of the Goblin Camp. With stealth and near silence they entered the camp, approached two of the ragged, stinking tents, each grabbed one of the loose hanging flaps, and in unison, pulled them open. Wooosh! Empty. The warriors looked up at each other with apprehension. Just then there was a furious clamor coming from the shadows and the pair spun around.

“AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaayyyYYYYYYyyyyeeeEEEEEE!!!!!!!!” A blood curdling scream rang out across the valley as a Goblin flew threw the air with a spear pointed at Glorf’s chest. He shifted as quickly as he could, as the tip of the spear streaked across his breastplate and the airborne Goblin crashed into him, both hitting the ground with a powerful thud. On the other end of camp, Gruzzon was being encircled by two snarling Goblins, one wielding a curved dagger, the other with a double-bit axe. Glorf rolled across the ground and got to his feet, as his attacker did the same. This time Glorf took the offensive, charging and swinging his sword down at the Goblin. The Goblin raised his spear horizontally to block the blow, but its wooden shaft was no match for the Longsword. The spear fractured it two, spraying splinters in all directions, and the Longsword followed through and struck the Goblin’s shoulder. “yyyYYAAAAAAAAAA!!!” The Goblin cried out in anguish, which quickly turned to anger, and just as Glorf had managed to pull his sword free, the Goblin leapt at him in a rage. The two again crashed to the ground, this time intertwined, with the Goblin on top. The foul creature grabbed the bit of exposed wrist just below Glorf’s sword-hand, dug his sharpened fingernails into flesh, while driving the sword-hand into the ground. Glorf used his free left hand, balled into a dense fist, to strike the Goblin’s face. Dark blood welled up from the Goblin’s cheek, but the eyes showed maddened resolve. Glorf brought his left arm back and delivered a forearm strike to the Goblin’s considerably smaller arms. They buckled but maintained their grip, nails digging into Glorf’s wrist, drawing blood and immobilizing his sword-hand. Again Glorf brought his left arm back and struck the Goblin’s grip with all his might. This time he was able to free his other hand for a brief moment - long enough to re-grip his sword, turn it on the Goblin, and drive it completely through its chest. Time stopped as the battling foes locked eyes. The Goblin looked down at his pierced chest, and looked back at Glorf with the horror of void on its face. It tried to muster one final attack, moving its hands to Glorf’s throat, but all its strength was quickly fleeting. Glorf knocked the Goblin back with his left arm while pulling his sword out of its chest. A strong flow of blood erupted and the Goblin landed on its back. Glorf rose to his feet. His wrist was leaking blood but he had the strength to fight. He gripped his longsword with both hands, strode to the Goblin, and raised the cold steel high above his head. The Goblin was not dead, but was dying, and couldn’t do much to move let alone muster a defense. With one swift, circular stroke, Glorf’s blue longsword glided through the Goblin’s neck and severed the head from its body. The Goblin head rolled once to the right and settled still against the dark ground.

Glorf looked down at his slain foe, and then looked to his own wrist to inspect the injury. Just then, he was startled by the yell of his fellow Warrior on the other end of camp. Up to this point, Gruzzon had been using his superior weapon to hold the pair of Goblin attackers off. Broad circles with his Master Claymore were merely prolonging the fight, but he could not take the offensive against one Goblin, as it would leave him open to attack from the other. The Goblin pair eventually decided to attack in tandem, from opposite sides. Gruzzon met the charge of the Goblin wielding the 2-bit axe and brought the mighty Claymore down, chopping off both the Goblin’s hands. The Goblin shrieked as his handless arms flailed and spouted blood, like a pair of unmanned garden hoses in a chaotic dance. Gruzzon started to turn on the second Goblin just as he felt the dagger enter his back. He called out in pain and swung the Claymore around on his attacker, who ducked and scurried back. Gruzzon kept the Claymore pointed at the frenzied Goblin with his right hand, while bringing his left hand around the small of his back. He gripped and pulled out the curved dagger with a grunt of anguish and resolve. He sheathed the dagger in his belt, and firmly gripped the Claymore with both hands. One of the remaining Goblins had lost his weapon, while the other had lost his hands. They sensed that their window had closed, and began maniacally fleeing into the night. Gruzzon ran after the vile creature that had stabbed him in the back, while Glorf, having irreversibly dispatched his own attacker, pursued the handless fiend. The muscular warriors had no trouble catching up to the Goblins, and almost in unison, like the final note of a violent symphony, struck the Goblins down. The pair made their way back to the dark camp. Glorf used his sword to slice two strips of cloth from a tent flap. The shorter he tied around his still bleeding wrist, and the longer he firmly wrapped around Gruzzon’s torso. They had been wounded, but not fatally. The warriors sat on the dark ground, catching their breath, calming their minds. Were there more Goblins lurking in the shadows? Perhaps. Would more come up from Goblin Town? It was only a matter of time. By morning’s light, they would gather the bodies and what remained of the camp, and burn it in a raging bonfire. But for the moment, they sat, and did nothing.

Entered by: 0xfF06…D6B9 and preserved on chain (see transaction)