I managed to calm my breathing, sitting over the Goblin's corpse. The fuel that spilled from the lantern had burned out, plunging the storeroom into darkness. Only through the crack in the slightly ajar door did an uneven, flickering light penetrate. Goblin music roared and howled outside. The stomping of many feet shook the floor. How many Greenskins were out there? Clearly no less than a few hundred, since they managed to capture a fortified settlement.
I had to get out of here, by no means attracting attention. But first, I wanted to ask the toad who was sharing my head a question:
— I saw you sacrificed on the top of the temple. You were a priest, right? Can you cast spells? Can you burn the Goblins, drop a comet on them, or teleport us out of here?
For a few long moments, the Slann was silent. I could only hear the Goblin noise and the screams of tormented victims. Then the reptiloid answered:
— I would not be able to use the full extent of my power over the Winds in an alien shell, warm-blood. However, some powers should be available to me, but something prevents their use. The answer to your question is no.
My reaction to that answer: fuck…
— We are in great danger, — the Slann decided to inform me of the obvious. — It is necessary to leave this place.
You don't say, my dear?
In the dark, I began to search the Goblin's corpse, trying to remove the dagger from his belt. The sensation wasn't the most pleasant. The already dirty carcass of the Greenskin was covered in wounds from my efforts. The dagger wasn't there. The Goblin probably dropped the blade while we were fighting or while trying to put out the flames engulfing his face.
However, I found a heavy leather pouch, fastened with a wooden button. Rummaging inside with my hand, I gritted my teeth in pain.
Teeth…
Along with several coins and bright pebbles, the pouch was full of sharp teeth, which still gave off a specific putrid stench. Son of a bitch. I hope my new body has good immunity. It would be a shame to get out of here, only to die of blood poisoning.
Somehow shaking the teeth out onto the floor, I started to think about what to do with the pouch. I found no pockets on my clothes. They were in terrible condition overall. My shirt was torn, and my pants were barely held up by a rope that replaced a proper belt. I somehow tied the much-thinned pouch to it.
I was unlucky with my starting kit in the new world. The only thing that instilled some confidence was the Goblin cleaver, which I never let go of in my right hand. The thing was dull, like its former owner, but simple to use and hefty. Heavy is good. Heavy is reliable. Even if I couldn't cut an enemy's throat, I could just smash their skull.
Carefully opening the storeroom door a crack, I looked around. The dimly lit short corridor awakened vague memories in my head. A kind of déjà vu. Perhaps the remnants of the neural connections belonging to the deceased owner of the body were awakening. I tried to grasp this feeling to figure out how to get outside. I didn't get a clear answer from my memory. Damn. Fine. I'll try to walk away from where the most noise is coming from. The loudest sounds of the Greenskin party were coming from the left, so I turned right.
I tried to walk quietly, but there was no point in being too stealthy. The Goblin noise masked my steps. Muffled human screams, some other shriek, and Goblin laughter came from ahead.
Damn. These freaks are literally everywhere now. The thought even crossed my mind to go back to the storeroom and try to wait until morning, but I was almost certain that the Greenskins would definitely barge in there again, and God forbid, in a crowd. No way. I'll try to take the initiative and leave this place on my own two feet.
Ahead was a dirty gray curtain that served as a door. I felt that déjà vu again. I envisioned a small kitchen at the back of a tavern. Vegetables were cleaned there, poultry was gutted, so that…
It was easier to dump the slops out the back door!
I moved forward, peeking behind the fabric. The scene that appeared before me caused a wave of nausea.
Where vegetables were once cut, fragments of a human body lay on a board. In the center of the kitchen, in a pot sitting on the fire, I saw a red, scalded hand trying to push its way out from under the lid. The poor guy was being boiled alive inside and screaming profanities. Two scrawny, half-naked Goblins were dancing around it. They were beating and twirling a desperately yelping calico cat in their paws. The cat tried to scratch, but the Goblins' hands were protected by cooking mitts.
— Throw 'im in the pot with the 'oomie? — one suggested.
— Nah! He screams funny. We'll skin 'im and smear 'im with pepper. Let him whimper!
The Greenskins burst out laughing.
The sight of these tormentors provoked indignation and disgust, but also pleased me. Both Goblins were noticeably shorter than the one I took down in the storeroom. Apparently, the toughest Greenskins were partying right now, and the runts were left in charge of the chores.
I could never call myself a moralist, but now I felt something akin to righteous anger. Perhaps because deep down I understood that I myself could end up as a victim of these small degenerates. Fury became my weapon, along with the cleaver.
Tossing the curtain aside, I burst into the room, smashing one of the Goblins on the back of the head with the heavy blade. The freak squealed, letting go of the cat. The furball instantly darted away in an unknown direction. I brought the second strike down on the other Goblin, but he dodged with surprising agility. The heavy blade only sliced the Greenskin's long ear. The Goblin spun in place, grabbing a wide knife from one of the cutting boards. The freak hissed, baring his teeth and waving the weapon.
— 'Oomie, die! Die, zog! — he shrieked. — I'll cut ya! I'll cut ya!
I didn't rush, letting my rage turn into cold anger. The Goblin was agile, but I surpassed him in height, arm length, and the length of my blade. Taking a step back, I looked at the other Greenskin. I didn't want to be hit in the back. The Goblin was still twitching. My blow had split the flesh on the back of his head, and greenish blood was dripping from the wound. I kicked him with my heel where the Goblin's temple might be. Then again and again.
The sole of my shoe was thin. Each kick felt as if I were barefoot. I could feel the strong Goblin skull with my sole, trying to drive it into the floorboards. The wounded Greenskin fell silent, dead or stunned. The sight of the brutal slaying had a good effect on his still-living comrade.
The Goblin trembled all over. The knife wavered in his hands. His ears drooped.
— Don't come closer! Don't come closer! — he shrieked.
Judging by his movements, the Goblin was ready to bolt at any moment. That option didn't suit me. I raised the cleaver to my shoulder, loading up a more powerful blow. Heavy weapons have inertia. It would easily break the Goblin's block, but I had to hit the brute accurately on the first try. I wouldn't be able to swing the cleaver quickly.
For a few seconds, we tried to anticipate each other's movements. Goblin right, I block his path. Goblin left, I'm already there. However, fear made the freak predictable. I used a feint. I acted as if I'd lost rhythm and moved in the wrong direction. The Goblin immediately took advantage, bolting to the left of me. However, I only simulated the movement. I swayed to the right and, sharply turning, lunged to intercept. I hacked with all my heart. The Goblin tried to twist away, but the wide blade landed on his neck. I probably managed to damage the vertebrae. The Goblin immediately stumbled and convulsed. I finished him off without any mercy.
Then, tearing the chef's mitts off him, I rushed to the pot where the man was boiling. I barely managed to budge that heavy thing. Leaning into it with my whole body, I knocked the pot over. My foot almost landed in the coals beneath it.
The disgusting contents of the pot spilled onto the floor. There were chicken heads, coarsely chopped vegetables, mushrooms, and a scalded, naked young man. Terrible burns were combined with signs of beating on his thin body. His skin was red, crumpled, and blistering, peeling off the flesh. I barely held back my urge to vomit. It was already clear that he couldn't be helped. With burns like that, one could die even in a normal modern hospital.
The man was still conscious, but no longer lucid. He was trembling slightly, his teeth chattering, and foam had appeared on his lips. It seemed the unfortunate man didn't even see me. I turned away. Perhaps it would have been more merciful to finish him off, but…
No.
I felt that such an act could undermine my mental stability, and it was more crucial now than ever.
— Do not allow your spirit to weaken, warm-blood, — the concentrated voice of the ancient creature sounded within me. — Give me more time to comprehend my capabilities in this vessel.
I was hoping for something more than stating the obvious.
— I highly recommend you hurry, my ancient amphibian friend, — I said, looking around.
What here could help my survival? Food? Hunger is far from the most pressing problem right now. Water? That's more important. On one of the tables, I found a familiar clay jug with a lid on a string. The vague memories of the new body prompted me to seek hydration in it.
The water was warm, but incredibly delicious. After the stress and physical exertion, I needed a good drink. Then, trying not to look at the man dying from burns, I looked around the room more carefully.
I noticed two black rags. These were the cloaks of the Goblin cooks. They had taken them off before cooking. A simple plan immediately formed in my head. Taking the rags, I smelled the Goblin stench, but that was actually good. These creatures also navigate by smell.
Putting both cloaks on, I made sure the hood fell over my face. For extra camouflage, I smeared my cheeks and chin with soot. Hell, this kind of camouflage wouldn't work even from five steps away, but it was still better. Perhaps, catching a glimpse of my hunched figure, the drunken Goblins wouldn't notice the trick.
In this guise, hunched down as low as possible, I opened the back door and slipped out into the darkness of the dreadful night. The small patch of ground behind the tavern was empty. It was quiet in the neighboring pen where the slops were usually taken. The Goblins had probably already taken the pigs from there. Good.
I needed to reach the edge of the village, avoiding the enemies. The gates might be guarded. It was much safer to climb over the stockade.
My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. Trying to mimic the Goblins' gait, I began to move, keeping between the houses and outbuildings.
The settlement was full of Greenskins, but fortunately for me, they were clustered around bonfires and other points of interest.
Furthermore, the Goblins were actively getting drunk. They had brought barrels from the tavern's cellar right out into the street and tapped each one. Near some, there were unruly lines of Greenskins waiting their turn at the tap. Fights and shouting accompanied this activity. The lids of some barrels were smashed in, so the Goblins were scooping out the drinks with tankards.
In the middle of the square near the tavern, the coals of a large bonfire glowed. A headless male corpse was impaled on a spit and was being rotated by two large Goblins, while a third "culinary expert" poured beer over the roasting meat.
Several terrified, half-naked women were probably awaiting the same fate. And while the spit was occupied, the Greenskins were chasing them around with pokes from the blunt ends of spears, grabbing their hair, and tearing off the remnants of their clothes. I again felt a surge of anger, like I had in the kitchen. However, attacking the mob of Goblins now would be suicide.
I began to look for a way out of the settlement. An almost three-meter stockade surrounded it. The gates in front of the tavern were wide open, but they were in full view of the Goblin horde. Still, no one was specifically guarding them. Discipline among the Gobbla was either sad or, conversely, too merry.
While scouting the village, my gaze involuntarily caught the night sky. It contrasted sharply with the nightmare happening down here. In the gaps between the clouds, incredibly bright stars twinkled. I hadn't seen them so vivid in a long time. In a world without electric lighting, they reigned almost supreme over the night light. The only serious competitor was the moon, or rather, the moons. Besides the familiar sight of the night luminary, I noticed its greenish double in the sky.
An ethereal glow emanated from it, coloring the surrounding stars. However, there was no time to dwell on the wonders of the new world.
I headed toward the stockade, passing a couple of Goblins. The village fence was a serious obstacle, especially considering the short stature of my new body. The stockade was sharply pointed. Jumping up and grabbing on would hardly be possible. If only I had a rope…
My gaze fell on one of the watchtowers. I could climb onto it and try to descend on the other side.
The door to the watchtower was open. Inside, a pleasant surprise probably awaited me. The corpse of one of the defenders. It was a man in a simple helmet. It looked like he was on top of the tower when the siege began and rolled down the stairs. His chest was a bloody mess. A terrible circular wound, his clothes scorched, his mouth open in a silent scream. What killed him? A cannon?
Fine. I'm not a detective or a Witcher to reconstruct the crime scene from clues. I just need to get the hell out of here. The main thing was that the dead guard had a helmet, a normal belt, a wide knife, and a short spear. I don't think he'll need them anymore.
I took the helmet and the old padded coif off the dead man. The armor was too big for me. Unused to it, it felt heavy, as if I had put a cauldron on my head. I had to get used to it. And this was the simplest helmet possible. No visor, not even a nasal guard. Just a cap with a row of rivets around the edge. I think such a helmet in my Middle Ages was called a cervelliere.
Having taken care of my safety somewhat, I climbed to the top of the tower and cursed. Too high. About five meters, plus a ditch with stakes. This place was well-guarded. Try to tie the two Goblin rags together to descend a bit lower and then jump? Not enough length. Add some of the guard's clothing to them? It might work.
The plan wasn't bad, but I underestimated the Goblins' foul curiosity. While their best warriors were drinking and gorging themselves, the smaller ones were crawling around the village looking for loot. A couple of those freaks opened the tower door, catching me pulling the pants off the corpse.
— 'Oomies! — one immediately shouted, and the other bolted.
Grabbing the spear, I plunged it with fury into the back of the runt-Goblin. However, the second Greenskin was already running, screaming and waving his arms. In a minute or less, the whole camp would know I was here. I had to go all-in.
Abandoning my rope initiative with the clothes, I took the cleaver in my right hand, the spear in my left, and rushed toward the gates. They might be in plain sight of the Goblins, but I'd be spotted soon anyway. All I could do was rely on the speed of my legs.
I ran, slapping my feet on the uneven, packed earth. Shouts of drunken Goblins erupted from all sides.
— 'Oomie!
— Look, a 'oomie runnin'!
— Catch 'im! Catch 'im!
One of the Goblins tried to block my path, but I thrust the spear forward, like a cavalryman at full gallop. The Greenskin didn't risk it. He tried to dodge and hit me in the back. Predictable. Almost abreast of him, I made a long, diagonal jump to the side, avoiding the blow. A malicious hiss sounded from behind. The enemy missed.
The gates were nearby. I flew through them, feeling the joy of imminent salvation. The euphoria allowed me not to notice the pain from minor wounds right now.
Beyond the gates was a large open space. The road went down the hill on which the fortified settlement stood. How did the Goblins manage to take this little fortress so easily anyway? It wasn't the greatest fort, but it had fortifications and a favorable location.
I ran down the hill with wide strides. Inertia carried me downward with almost no effort. Goblins certainly wouldn't be able to do that with their short legs. But I should hurry. Their arrows had every chance of catching up to me. I needed to break the distance.
Not a single arrow flew past. Already a good sign.
After running about a hundred-something meters, I stopped to catch my breath a bit and look around. Turning back, I noticed that the Goblins weren't even rushing to pursue me. They poured out of the gates, but weren't running down the hill. They were just standing and shouting indignantly. Resting the spear on my shoulder, I flipped them the middle finger.
— You must go, warm-blood, — my invisible toad reminded me. — This is only the first step to… Danger!
I didn't immediately understand what he meant, but soon I noticed green sparks running between the rows of Goblins. One of the freaks stepped forward, rhythmically dancing in place. I could make out his complex hat, adorned with many bone decorations. Instead of a weapon, the Goblin held a crooked staff. Damn! That was a Shaman!
I recalled the guard with the torn chest and scorched clothes. Was that the work of a Goblin Shaman? Perhaps he was the one who broke down the gates, ensuring the easy capture of the settlement. I started to run, but the Slann addressed me.
— No. You will not make it in time. Do as I say. Close your eyes.
A part of me wanted to argue with the ancient toad, but reason dictated that the Slann understood magic much better than I did. My eyelids closed.
— Listen only to me, only to my voice. You are not here. You are not present here. You are home. Where you were born. Envision that place.
I imagined myself in the hall of the old apartment where I lived with my parents in childhood. A rug on the floor and…
Flash!
A searing green light enveloped me. My body was burning. It hurt. The cursed toad was wrong! He doomed us both!
However, the flash died down, and I seemed to be still alive. Opening my eyes, I found that my clothes were smoking. I smelled burnt hair. A small crater had formed on the ground around me. Enormous forces had struck me, yet without causing serious harm.
The Goblins were silent. They looked at me, then at the Shaman, in surprise. His jaw dropped. For a few seconds, he blinked in confusion, and then roared indignantly:
— Not fair!
He started dancing and muttering again, even more furiously than before. Green energy swirled around him. The Goblins roared and jumped, brandishing their weapons.
— Should I close my eyes again? — I asked the toad, whom I was beginning to treat with much more respect.
— No, warm-blood. Prepare to continue your journey. Worry no more about that parasite.
The Goblin shrieked fiercely. Green energy enveloped him and…
A loud bang echoed on the hill. The Shaman's body arched. He screamed in pain. The staff flashed, and the Goblin's left arm broke in several places. The robes of a couple of neighboring Greenskins caught fire.
— Woah! Was that you? Like a counter-spell? — I asked.
— No. The savage himself called upon too much power. His mind lost concentration, and primitive emotions did the rest. However, hurry, warm-blood. Your strange origin protects us from the Winds of Magic, but not from the weapons of these parasites.
My origin?
But before I could ask new questions, one of the Goblin leaders on the hill roared:
— Get 'im! Archers, shoot! Herders, loose the Squigs!
— Squigs! Squigs! — other Greenskins supported the idea joyfully.
Right…
If I understand correctly which creatures they're talking about, I'd better run, and run very fast.