A harsh, bleating horn heralded the appearance of a burly, battle-scarred goblin. As it strode forward the kobolds around it scrurried as if afraid to get too close. A great tattoo depecting a skeletal ram’s head marked this goblin’s face. It wore a wolf fur cloak and a scale shirt, and it held a huge battleaxe in each hand. The torchlight glittered off the scale mail and through the melee, even from across the chamber, Khalin could tell it was of dwarven origin.
The large goblin smiled as it parried away Khalin’s blow and heard the squeals from Tradden as the denwardens struck home. In its mouth Khalin saw large pieces of iron instead of teeth jutting at odd angles. Its eyes were wild and it didn’t look quite in control, ignoring Tradden’s repeated attempts to get its attention it still focused on the dwarf.
Noting the goblin’s growing fury, Khalin played his latest gambit. Khalin’s sweep knocked two of the iron teeth clean out of the goblin’s maw, drawing a snarl of rage. Furiously, the goblin struck back regardless of the consequences.
‘Enough!’ boomed Kireth’s voice, echoing above the clash of steel. His trusty staff whirled over in his hands and a bolt spewed forth. Feeling the force slam into its torso the goblin looked up, confusion on its face. The axe falling from its hand, Irontooth sank to one knee. As its breathing became shallower it looked around at the faces. A bloodstained smile spread across its face. ‘You… have no… idea,’ it croaked before falling sideways. As its toothy grin closed it muttured, perhaps in goblin speech, ‘Skauril ka Gash Orka, chikkada passa!’ Then all was silent.