Squib Ep.21 - Dinner For Three
(Start at the beginning here)
The swamp had been quiet, eerily quiet, least of all because Herule now walked it alone. The human baggage he’d left the slave camp with had departed southward on the first dawn after their escape. That left Herule on a path westward back toward his ancestral borders. He had not lamented their departure, quite the opposite, feeling suddenly free of a chain not so unlike the metal rungs the orcs had bound about his limbs. The only exception being Gizelle who, in her absence, Herule was plagued with the phantom sense that somehow he’d forgotten something. He had none of his personal equipment such as his shield or spear, items he’d left home with only to be lost in the swamp on the day of his capture. He possessed no baubles or trinkets, the likes most other races took special pride in; though not uncommon among his kind he favored the freedom of a warrior, of which such things were likely to get captured by the swamp. So the only thing left for him to miss was the companion he’d been forced to hold by his side. The same companion he’d now been forced to separate from- the two now diverting back toward their respective, albeit separate worlds.
Now the rains fell, filling the swamp with an overabundance of water that threatened to sink the place entirely. Herule didn't mind. It made the boundary between slogging mud and swimming freely that much easier as the muck became pools, and the firmest soil rose prominently around them. It had also meant a lack of Gray Goblins who tended to patrol this area of the swamp. Not that Herule presumed the rain bothered them any more than it did him, but their lack of presence was notable and it seemed a worthwhile explanation.
“What Herule wouldn't give for a Goblin,” Herule thought as a knot of hunger twisted painfully in his stomach. He didn't care for their meat but considering the rain had driven the critters of the swamp into hiding, it would be a serviceable meal. Had he a better implement, he might spend the time hunting just to sate himself for a time. As it was, he suspected his time would be better spent traveling straight for home, enduring the annoying feeling, and hoping for luck to have him cross paths with a grub, some silkworms, or if he were truly lucky, a nest with some form of egg.
Long as it had been the day had grown dark. Shadow filled what remained of the dim terrain. The gray clouds of the sky served to further hem in the bleak surroundings. None of it bothered Herule, except for the sensation of electricity that carried on the air. He knew storms, had weathered many in his time, but for some strange reason this seemed different. Instinct told him of danger, but why and where he could not discern. So he ignored it, focusing on the trees in his immediate surroundings sticking to his most base detectors of sight, scent, and sound..
The stink of fresh rain had washed away the familiar odor of the swamp, creating an obscure pallet from which Herule was able to work from. Where normally the taste of various creatures, disturbed waters, or the seasonal breezes might ruminate on the thick of his tongue, instead the unmistakable scent of smoke piqued keenly at his attention. He paused in his stride, wrapping one muscled arm around the trunk of a tree to survey his surroundings. Drops of rain fell heavily, doubling up as they bounded back from the pools of water, creating an obscuring vista for as far as the eye could see. Yet as he made his way around the trunk, the faint glow of distant firelight illuminated what might otherwise be hidden from view. Without pause he diverted from his path to take a closer look.
The nook of a hill was one of many throughout the swamp, favored for its elevated position and dry sturdy ground. Goblins, Lizardmen, and travellers alike loved to make them campsites, and considering the dismal terrain of even the most accommodating parts of the swamp, they were universally regarded as prized sections of real estate. Every hunter worth his scales had a dozen or so mapped out along his ranges, and often they would become the center of conflict when opposing parties found themselves vying for sanctuary necessary for a much needed rest.
Herule slid down mud and slunk into the embrace of a bloated pool. His body submerged, he now had the freedom to use his mighty tail and propel himself through the water. His long snout and raised nostrils meant he could approach level with the water, and given the noise and haze of the rain, he was free stalk the edge the sinking hillock without fear of detection.
The smell of smoke and of roasting meat sat heavy along the surface of the water. The flames of the cookfire danced freely despite the rain, burning brightly and leaping into the air beneath a canopy of foliage and canvas. The work was not complete savagery but from the look of things they had the distinct makings of a Goblin.
Two individuals sat sullen and silent, huddling close to the flames mostly to avoid the rain but also seemingly to dry off. The first was a dark haired human woman in wet leather and cloth, busy about something in her hands. The other looked to be a small and shrouded figure with the hands and feet of a Goblin, currently working his way through a meal stripped right off the bone. It was a strange pairing even for the swamp, perhaps the strangest Herule had ever seen. But then it would never occur to him to consider how he must have looked over his time in Orc captivity.
Adjusting his javelin beneath the water, Herule took one last moment to scan the surrounding area for anyone else. Satisfied it was just the three of them, he prepared to make a move.
(Continue to Ep.22)
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