"I did it! I'm alive!" Lark wheezed, collapsing against the damp stone wall of the dungeon passage. His single eye squeezed shut as he gulped down burning breaths.
Relief warred with exhaustion, making his limbs tremble. He slid down the wall into a crouch, pressing his back against the cold stone.
"Can't… stop," he gasped, forcing his eye open again. "Gotta… move." He licked his cracked lips. "Monsters inside… boar outside… fucking trapped."
Panic tightened his chest. "What the hell do I do?!" He clawed at his filthy hair, the sound of his own frantic breathing echoing in the cramped tunnel.
The clatter of heavy footsteps echoed from deeper within the dungeon. Measured. Deliberate.
Lark froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Someone's coming!" he hissed. He scanned the narrow passage – smooth stone walls, no alcoves or hiding places.
"Nowhere to run!"
His hand flew to his waist, clutching at empty air. "Shit! My weapon! Broke it running from that pig!" His guts turned to water. "No weapon… legs like jelly… I'm fucking done for!" Despair threatened to overwhelm him as the rhythmic stomp of boots grew louder.
He scrambled clumsily to his feet, pressing his back against the wall. His fists clenched uselessly, sweat pouring down his scarred face. The footsteps were almost upon him.
There was nowhere to go.
Two massive shapes materialized from the shadows, filling the passage like a wall of green muscle. Lark's single eye widened in pure horror.
"Hobgoblins?!" His mind screamed. "TWO of them?! Oh fuck me…"
Hobgoblins weren't just normal goblins, they were death made flesh. Born from the blood of countless victims, they were the next step in a goblinoid's evolution – stronger, faster, crueler.
A single hobgoblin could lead a tribe of a hundred goblins and be a true terror on the battlefield. Two together… Lark's knees buckled.
"Done… I'm fucked," he choked out, sagging against the wall. "Out of the frying pan… right into the fucking fire…" All the fight drained out of him. He slumped to his knees, waiting for the end.
The hobgoblins advanced slowly, their spears leveled with grim precision. The serious one stopped directly in front of the kneeling human, his weapon poised. His companion hovered nearby, watching impassively.
CRACK!
The spearhead whistled through the air. Lark squeezed his eye shut tight, bracing for the blow. He flinched as he felt the rush of wind past his face… followed by a dull THUD of wood meeting stone just inches from his forehead. He felt the vibration shiver through the rock wall behind him.
But no pain came.
Neither agony nor death.
A small, blunt object poked insistently against Lark's chest. Once. Twice.
Confused and trembling, Lark peeled his eyelid open. He was still alive, staring at the massive, scarred chest of the hobgoblin.
Its spear was embedded deep into the wall just above his head. And its companion was jabbing him repeatedly in the ribs with the blunt end of its own spear.
"Eh?" Lark croaked. "W-why…?"
The serious hobgoblin grunted, pointing its spear down the dark passageway. "G-g-go," It stammered through heavily accented, broken words. The words were rough and guttural, like stones grinding together.
Lark's jaw dropped. "You… you can talk?! Since when can monsters talk?!" he sputtered. The sheer surprise momentarily overrode his terror.
"N-n-NOW!" The hobgoblin punctuated his demand by jabbing Lark hard in the chest with the blunt end of his spear. The force of it sent Lark sprawling backward onto his ass with a yelp.
"Ow! Okay! Okay! I'm going!" Lark scrambled to his feet, rubbing his bruised chest. The fear was back, mixed with stunned disbelief.
"Fucking hell… talking hobgoblins… what's next? A dragon that writes poetry?" He stumbled forward, pushed by another jab.
'Think, Lark, think!' his mind raced as he shuffled down the tunnel, the two hobgoblins falling in behind him.
'A talking monster… this dungeon… something's not right here.' Lark thought.
The deeper they went, the darker and colder it became. The air tasted stale, with a faint underlying scent of damp earth and something else… something strangely floral.
Lark's mind spun with impossible questions as he was herded into the unknown heart of Nazas Dungeon.
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'Fascinating!' Lyssandra thought, a surprised smile curling her lips. Her awareness snapped back into her physical body, perched high on the hillside overlooking the chaotic Red Death camp below.
She had felt the disturbance immediately, an intrusion into the entrance of Nazas Dungeon. Instantly, her consciousness raced down the psychic tether connecting to her domain, allowing her to perceive the frantic scene unfolding within the passageway.
The sight of the desperate bandit scrambling away from the enraged Brambletusk was mildly amusing. The boar's sudden, terrified retreat upon sensing her dungeon's aura...or her smell was even more satisfying.
"Clever beast," she mused. "Smarter than it looks. Knows a true predator when it feels one. Ah, the guards are here too," Lyssandra observed with detached amusement as the two massive hobgoblins lumbered towards the bandit from deeper in the tunnel.
Their spears were ready, movements silent and purposeful. She watched the bandit slump against the wall in terrified exhaustion, oblivious to the impending threat.
Suddenly, a section of the stone wall next to the hobgoblins rippled like liquid. Lyssandra's perfect duplicate emerged from the solid rock, stepping smoothly into the path of the startled guards.
They flinched back, spears snapping up defensively before recognition dawned.
Lyssandra's clone met the hobgoblins' wide eyes. "Keep the intruder alive," she ordered, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space. The words were simple and absolute.
Without waiting for acknowledgment, she stepped backward, her body dissolving seamlessly back into the stone as if she'd never been there.
The hobgoblins lowered their spears, exchanging confused glances before turning their attention back to the trembling bandit. The order were clear.
With that bizarre encounter set aside for now, Lyssandra's consciousness flowed back into her clone body on the hillside. The faintest hints of dawn were beginning to creep across the horizon, painting the dark sky in shades of deep blue and purple.
"They should be back by now," she muttered.
Right on cue, three familiar shadows materialized behind her, their forms solidifying in the predawn gloom. The Shadow Goblins knelt in perfect synchronization, their heads bowing low.
"Great One, this is the report about the Red Death camp," the leading shadow spoke softly, his voice barely a whisper on the wind.
Lyssandra didn't bother turning around, her bright blue eyes remaining fixed on the bandit stronghold below as she simply extended one graceful hand behind her, fingers beckoning.
The Shadow Goblin carefully collected the gathered intelligence, compiling it into a neat stack before placing the papers directly into her waiting palm.
Lyssandra's eyes flickered down, scanning the first report. "137 bandits," she read silently. "Most weapons are swords, axes, daggers. Melee weapons. Not too many bows or ranged weapons. Many traps laying around the gates, mostly on the east gate."
She flipped to the next page. "They change guarding shifts every three hours, but because they are bandits, the timing is messed up every time. Sometimes they're late for half an hour." A cold smile touched her lips. "Also, the lookout archers on the high towers are always asleep or neglectful of their duties.. Pathetic."
The final report drew her attention. "The camp's back is close to a sheer cliff on the north. Easy to defend, hard to attack."
Lyssandra mumbled "But who are we? We are not normal people."
"Well done," she murmured approvingly, her smile widening. "Now rest. We will wait until the time is right."
But the Shadow Goblins remained kneeling, their hooded heads still bowed. She could sense their hesitation, their reluctance to depart.
"Great One," Two spoke up softly, his voice carrying a hint of something darker. "While I was inside their camp, I noticed a lot of human women were locked up. Half of them had been violated and mistreated, their bodies bruised and broken. The others weren't in that bad of a state, only locked away with normal food to eat."
One continued seamlessly, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. "I discovered that a carriage came to collect those taken-care-of women and brought them away too. It seemed something was not right here, Mistress."
Lyssandra's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression shifting from amusement to something more calculating. "Is that so," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "I saw a carriage come in and go away too."
She paused, considering this new information. Her fingers drummed lightly against the papers she held, the sound rhythmic in the quiet dawn air.
"But that's enough for now," she finally concluded, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. "We still follow the plan."
The Shadow Goblins bowed their heads once more, and then, like smoke dispersed by wind, they simply vanished into the gathering light.