Drowned?

Stag hunting was difficult under the best of circumstances but it was close to impossible when attempted without the aid of a bow. This was the initiation rite of the Bloodfist, an elite force of the Bloody Fist goblin clan. The rite started with a three day march east of the camp through a large open plain and into a forest rumored to be guarded by an aggressive druid. Then the initiate must successfully stalk his prey and slay it by opening its throat with a blade. Many had set out on this journey but few had been successful. Most who failed took their chances with the druid rather than return to their doom. The few who returned empty-handed were either made examples of by Kirath himself, or sacrificed to Maglubiyet by Galrick, the sadistic clan shaman.

Olrich was not an initiate though, he had risen beyond that. He was the captain of the Bloodfist, Kirath’s right hand and most loyal soldier. He was in the druid’s forest hunting to keep sharp his deadly skill and to provide the venison that his lord was so fond of. Although not bound by the initiation rite Olrich hunted with only his falchion, mostly for bragging rights but also because he enjoyed the up-close and bloody spectacle.

Despite the rain (in fact it was probably due to the rain), Olrich had been successful in his hunt. He had found not one but two deer bedded down for the night and had managed to stalk and decapitate them both. As the storm had ebbed he made his way along the swollen river bank that would lead him out of the forest and back home. In his wake a crude sled dragged along the ground laden with venison wrapped in oiled cloth. It was an impossible burden for a typical goblin but there was nothing typical about the Bloodfist goblins. They were selectively bred and augmented by Galrick’s dark magic specifically for war. Olrich was the finest example of this. Standing nearly a head taller than his kin, he was twice as thick and had a boldness about him that was diametrically opposed to his race. Tonight he plodded on barely encumbered by his haul, and sang a battle song much more loudly than was prudent.

As he rounded a curve in the river Olrich noticed something washed up on the bank. A soft, silver light flashed from its surface as the moon attempted to push through the heavy clouds. Olrich stopped and dropped the rope attached to the sled. Drawing his falchion he approached the object more curious than anything. As he closed in on the object he recognized it as a sword hilt which was half covered by a cloak which was also covering a thin humanoid! Olrich tensed, his grip on his sword tightening as he readied for a possible attack. No movement came from the crumpled figure laying face down half on the river bank, with legs still dangling limply in the fast running water. He approached slowly, sword leading the way and prodded the form with his boot; still, no movement. Reaching down with his free hand Olrich grabbed the collar of the cloak and dragged the figure roughly from the water rolling it over and dropping it unceremoniously on the bank. He smiled wickedly after gaining sight of what he had found. It was not just any figure cast into the water but an elf! Elves were a rare sight this far from their ancestral home in Kemmermere, an elf skull would be a great honor to add to his list of victories. Assuming the elf dead he bent low and began searching the unlucky fellow for valuables. His toothy smile took in his whole face when his hand found a purse heavy with coins. Sheathing his falchion, Olrich bent low and untied the purse from the elfs' belt only then noticing that the creature still drew breath!
Jumping back, he grabbed at the hilt of his sword and tore it from its sheath intending to finish off the helpless elf before he could become a threat. As he raised the falchion over his head for the strike he paused. Would it please Kirath more to have an elven slave? He thought. He mulled over the idea for a moment, calculating the possible outcomes of his next action.

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Old Vantil did not normally wander the wood at night during a storm. He preferred the sunlit hours when he could enjoy the thrum of the natural world around him. Tonight was different though. He had been granted a vision by Lantana, a vision of slaughter in his wood this very night. In his nearly seventy winters as caretaker of the forest, the centaur had rarely been graced with such a clear message from his deity; it was not something he was to ignore. Not long ago he had found the pool of blood and the heads of two young deer he had known well. He had been too late to prevent the poaching but not too late to exact justice. The fool who had committed this atrocity had left a clear path through the forest toward the river to the south. The trail was easy to follow and within an hour Vantil had reached the river bank. There in the emerging moonlight he saw... The largest goblin he had ever encountered dressed in dark leather armor and a bright crimson cloak. He stood over a prone figure with a heavy sword held high overhead ready to strike. A crude sled off to the side carried the bodies of his fallen woodland friends. Rage built within Vantil as he viewed the killer in front of him. With a snarl he gestured and yelled. “Impedio fatum!” The words seemed to be magnified by the power within the spell which rolled away from the druid and filled the area around the two figures on the river bank. Instantly the undergrowth leaped to the command of Vantil’s magic, the extended will of Lantana. Writhing and stretching, the growth around the monstrous goblin reached out to entangle his limbs and those of the helpless elf before him.

Olrich’s surprise was complete; he had been so intent on the broken elf that he was oblivious to the entrance of the druid. He began to turn when he heard the booming voice of the centaur but then he felt something writhing around his legs. Looking down Olrich saw the various plants around him springing to life and reaching out to ensnare him and the elf both. Holding his falchion high he began slashing viscously at the plants around him, slicing through grasses, brambles, and even roots that exploded through the ground to grasp at his legs and torso.

The elf in front of him showed no resistance and was quickly engulfed and held in a green cocoon of vegetation. More concerned with his own wellbeing, Olrich continued to beat back the persistent, clinging plants. For several seconds he battled to stay free but it was a losing battle and he could sense it.