Goblins were a curious handful of creatures. While they often resided within the depths of forests and caves, steering mostly clear of humanity, they did this because on some instinctive level, they were very much aware of their weakness and hierarchy on the proverbial totem pole that was Leraana. In a land of hunters, a lone goblin— even a small group of them— were often prey to creatures or humans... and so they often kept out of sight, stuck to their forests and caves, and went unnoticed on the main roads. Normally. There were exceptions to the rule, of course; lone goblins who broke away from the mold and made names for themselves across Leraana, as well as entire hordes of the creatures that weren't so easily denied taking to the civilized lands. This was a story in which both cases collided. A certain cursed elf just so happened to be caught in the middle of it. Midday, early Summer. The overbearing sun had thankfully been blotted out by rainclouds over Yermomstead, one of many small villages that dotted the base of the Thunderblacks. It was a quaint place; located to the south of the mountains, it contended with typically hot afternoons and cold evenings— a result of being located so close to the mountainside. For a blessing, miles south, east and west of the village were fairly clear, the Serha plains every bit as vast as they were flat. Raiders were often seen quite a ways off, and while the villages defenses weren't particularly impressive, the able-bodied hunters of Yermomstead often doubled as defenders at the gates when needed— their prowess with the bow and arrow allowing them to mark targets from afar before they could get within any dangerous range of the village. It was a peaceful town, one which enjoyed relative security and stability for several generations. Until today, at least. Who could say from whence they came, truly? The plains were quiet, tranquil... until they weren't. The hunters on guard, a pair of Adelan men— one a few years past his prime, the other in his early 20s— could feel it before they could see it. The rumbling. The vibrating earth beneath their feet, as if the ground itself were being trampled by a newborn, furious river's current. Raiders, they may have thought originally— yet with such vibration, surely the horses would've been seen over the horizon by now, yes? Yet there was nothing-- not a hoof in sight.
The rumblings, however, continued to grow in force and urgency. An earthquake, perhaps? Yet the ground showed no signs of faulting, nor did the structures within the village show any signs of failing. What was it, then?
"...Better call the chief. Go on, Serk-- I'll keep watch." Spoke up the older of the two men-- His blend of gray and black hair shifting in the ominous winds that picked up in the vicinity. His arms had instinctively drawn forth the bow and arrow with which he'd taken down several beasts in his time. 'Serk', the younger of the two, a red-headed man of considerable physique, did not contest his words-- It would've been folly to do so, in his eyes. The older man was his mentor, after all; He'd taken him on several hunts in the past, and of the man lessons the older man had forced into his head, disobeying an order in a time of uncertainty was one that stayed at the forefront. "Call if anything happens, then? I'll-- I'll be back as quick as I can." Came the redhead's rather uncertain words, though his body didn't move with the same hesitation-- indeed, before he'd even finished the sentence, he'd stepped down from his watchpost behind the village gate and begun making his way north, towards the residential's. His mentor was right-- the chief needed to know that something was amiss. With any luck, it was nothing and the tremors would stop soon.
Alas, luck was a two-sided coin.
"UNVEIL! ATTACK! TAKE THE SOUTH GATE AND CIRCLE TO THE EAST!"
A veteran rarely loses his edge. Under threat of beasts and raiders alike, it was natural to ensure that one's nerves were as steeled as a nocked and drawn shortbow. Yet as a therefore unseen stone javelin of relatively crude make quite literally materialized out of thin air, mid-flight as it spiraled directly for the hunter's head, his instincts won out; He ducked, thankfully in the nick of time as it just barely grazed his graying hair before landing harmlessly past the gates. As he cowered, the trembling silence gave way to a massive roar-- not a singular creature, but the symphony of tens of hundreds-- A rancorous, rallying battle cry. His eyes snapped open, and in spite of the unknown danger, he once more lifted himself up to peer above the gate from the watchpost... To find a sight most horrifying. For what now rushed forth at the gates was no mere raider party, nor flock of beasts... but a goblin horde. A MASSIVE goblin horde-- Lead from the front, it seemed, by a particularly unique 'chief'.
His armor was crimson and spike-covered; Likely painted red with the blood of his enemies-- And he wore the skull of a bear, fashioned into something akin to a warrior's helmet. Yet what caught the man's attention was neither his armor, nor the large warhammer he wielded in his right hand. No... it was the fact that in his left, he very clearly wielded magic. Magic that, as he made a singular gesture with his fingers-- like pointing a projectile weapon at the main gate-- pulsed forward with a horrifyingly surreal force. Green flames, as green as his skin, poured out from his hand and slammed against the wooden gate like a flood of water, shocking the older hunter and throwing him off balance besides. Before he could catch his footing, the unthinkable happened; The flames had burrowed a massive hole straight through the village gates, the sturdy wood giving way to unnatural, profane forces. It all happened in an instant-- all as if premeditated. Before the words "Goblin Horde Attack!" Could completely make it out of the hunter's throat, the little green raiders were inside-- and he was burned to a crisp by flames of green from their leader.
The rest of the village fell in short succession. A cascade of villager's screams and warcries echoed through Yermomstead within minutes of the horde's arrival, as they spread and terrorized the men, women and children alike in their absolute conquest. Those who could fight, did; Hunters took to their bows and spears, and though they valiantly defended their homes in the ensuing chaos, there was only so much they could do against the encroaching horde. Before long, the small town had gone up in flames; A pyre which could be seen far into the distance, even in the midday sky.
A pyre which a certain young Goblin heroine just so happened to be close enough to spot, as 'luck' would have it.
