I write this in hopes I can share it when we finally get out of here, or, if not, as a warning to those who may eventually find it.
We thought we were so clever, goblins are small and weak after all. They need, nay, crave a firm hand to guide them. Like the drow masters from whom we had escaped ourselves we could establish ourselves as the overlords of these craven creatures. Lars even spoke their grating language, so it would be a cinch to subjugate them, we thought.
We were wrong.
We came across one of their villages almost a month into our travels. We’d exhausted our own food supply a week before and had been subsisting on whatever we could find or bring down, and our hunger added impetus to our demands. Their chief, a gangly little wretch sitting atop a massive wolf, bade us welcome, and offered us food and shelter. There was something in the way that wolf looked at us that sent shivers down my spine, but we were so hungry we couldn’t say no.
The village produced such a feast! We gorged on the grilled meats and other dishes until we could barely stand, drank wines better than any we had tasted before, and laughed heartily at the antics of the goblin entertainers. We were treated like kings, even to being settled into sumptuous fur beds when we couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer.
Reality came crashing in on us in the morning. A dozen goblins brandishing spears burst in on us just as the sun was rising. We were herded out of the hut, Lars receiving a deep gouge from one of the spears as he tried protesting, and we stood before the chief once more. An evil grin nearly split the bastards face as he looked at us and asked, “Which one?” To our horror the wolf pointed its nose at Lars and said “That one,” in the goblin’s own tongue.
The goblins swarmed all over Lars, overpowering him and bearing him to the ground. Blood pooled on the ground and screams filled the air as we watched on, unable to move. Movement caught our attention as the massive beast moved close enough for us to feel his hot breath. He stared at us and spoke again. Even though he spoke in goblin, we understood the command well enough. Run.
We ran. Gods help us did we run. We saw our gear piled neatly by the village gate and we grabbed it, not even considering what it might mean. As we left the village an unearthly chorus of howls went up all around us. We ran through the day and night, terror burning stronger than the pains we were all feeling. Whenever we would stop and rest for a moment we would hear those awful howls closing in.
We reached this tower late in the afternoon. Barret had tripped and broken his leg around midday, but he still pressed on with us. The howls were getting closer so we decided that we would either make our stand here or dive into the sea. We collapsed the stone bridge and rigged up a quick trap on the door, barricading it just as a pack of massive wolves materialized from the edge of the trees. One of the monsters snarled at us, saying, in common “You ran well, now you die.”
I tended to Barret’s wound as well as I could while the wolves assaulted the door. The first to strike the door was rewarded with a deep cut across both forelegs and ran off into the marsh with a shrill yelp. Sam kept watch up in the tower, firing his crossbow at the beasts as they attacked the door. He hit a few of them, but he doesn’t think that any were serious. The wolves stopped attacking the door after a few forays and have encircled the tower. After a few shots they learned the range of the crossbow and carefully remain outside of that. We don’t have any food or water, so hopefully the wolves give up soon. At least we started with full bellies.
The wolves are tricky. Some would venture just into range and run off when we fired on them, like they were trying to get us to waste ammunition. We’ve gathered up some rocks to throw if they get close enough, and fashioned a crude sling, but we need to conserve the ammunition. We haven’t eaten since the feast 3 days ago, but some of the moss growing on the walls seems to act as a sponge, so when the fog rolls in it leaves us some water, but not much.
Barret’s wound is infected. If we don’t get some help he will lose a leg, or even die. The wolves are still out there, and they make sure we know it. One ventured in far enough to hit with a rock, but it ran off. Hopefully they think we are out of bolts and close in. We have a dozen more bolts for the crossbow.
So hungry. Barret is feverish now, and I recognized the signs of blood poisoning in his leg. I tourniqueted it, but it’s all but certain he will lose the leg. It’s been almost a week since we last ate. Sam tried some of the moss, but vomited almost immediately.
Barret died today. I’m surprised he lasted this long. Maybe we can use his body to lure the wolves in close enough to kill them, or to distract them while we run away. We are so weak though, I don’t think we would be able to lift him up the stairwell.
Oh gods what have we done. It was so simple, so logical. I could barely hold it down if I thought about it, but we both feel vitality returning to our frames.
The wolves are still there, lurking, even after nearly 20 days. We thought to escape on the far side of the building, but one of the creatures was lurking close, oh so close, and nearly got me. Sam hit it with a bolt and it retreated, but it was soon joined by its companions.
The howls are driving me mad! It’s been incessant, non-stop for the past day! Why won’t they leave! Sam covered me while I ventured out to reset our blade trap. There’s no way I would get very far.
We are out of food again. We tried rationing, but even that ran out. We tried a different tactic, letting them get close enough to make another attack on the door. It took a few days, these wolves are extraordinarily patient. The wolf who did so was smart, he used a stick to push the door open, avoiding the trap. We waited, ever so patiently as he searched the room, and then came up the stairs. Then we attacked. I bit him as he topped the stairs, perfectly timing my strikes, relishing the feel of my claws sinking into his unsuspecting flesh. The feeling of the blood over my parched tongue was exquisite, almost as sweet as the look of abject terror in the wolf’s eyes. Even as we tore the paralyzed corpse apart, feasting, gorging ourselves on the warm flesh and blood, but our hunger refused to abate for long. Dear gods, what have we become?