Tales from a previous life - 1

Scruff the Mauler was a mountain goat. Cliffs and rock and ravines were her thing. A headlong flight through the moonless night, dodging between trees and over roots was foreign to her. So was the scent of the large pack of worgs nipping at her heels, as was the screeching of the scores of goblins she could catch glimpses of between the passing trees. But she wasn’t afraid

She ran and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Like dwarves, mountain goats are built for speed, but she knew she wouldn’t manage to outrun the host pursuing her. She would get cornered or would trip and fall, or just collapse from exhaustion. But she wasn’t afraid.

As expected, she took a wrong turn and found herself trapped between a cliff and a river. She knew that while she could get up the cliff, it would be no where near fast enough. She also knew she might be able to struggle across the river, but mountain goats have their dignity to consider. And so she turned and faced the advancing horde and waited, trembling slightly from fatigue and adrenaline. She held her head up high and watched them gather excitedly a short distance away, howling all the while for her blood. But she wasn’t afraid.

She felt the weight on her back shift and a small hand ruffle her hair. Knowing what was coming, she quickly snuffled out and gobbled up the proffered carrot. A soft voice murmured in her ear and she knew things were going to be okay. With her breath slowly returning, Scruff watched her little lady dismount and advance on the throng. She cut a fine figure with her long flowing blonde hair, calm confidence and iron composure. She felt some small measure of goat-pride as she looked at her little lady, one tiny graceful figure framed against the horrible masses. Her little lady and the goblins brayed at each other for a while, like the two legged things often liked to do, but she knew from the look in the worgs eyes that blood was going to be shed this night. She pulled a tuft of sweet soft grass from the riverbank and waited. She wasn’t afraid.

Slowly chewing her snack, Scruff watched as the goblins suddenly screeched and threw themselves at her little lady. Like a candle wick, her little lady caught aflame with the brightest of divine golden fire and Scruff shivered as she felt the pure power saturate the air. The goblins fell over themselves in sudden retreat, only now just realising that they were in over their heads. With all the time in the world her little lady raised her tiny fist in the air. Scruff watched it intently, as this was always her favourite part. With deliberate slowness the fist came down, plopping softly into the damp soil of the riverbank, except in response the earth violently exploded. It bucked and thrusted and split, and goblins and worgs were tossed about like toys on a drum. Bodies went flying dozens of feet in the air - some landing in the river, some disappearing down cracks in the earth. Still others were buried in a rockslide from the cliff. Scruff bleated in excitement.

With a supreme calmness her little lady continued to excercise her power. Gouts of flame and shafts of white light cut down a number of survivors, with the remainder scurrying away into the safety of the night. Silence eventually prevailed and her little ladies light slowly faded. Scruff stood perfectly still, knowing that this time was always hard for her.  Eventually though, she turned back and approached Scruff, picking a lump of mud out of her hair. The trap had been sprung. She hadn’t been afraid.