They were led by Chieftain Naumel, a Fomirelin [Great Chieftain], who was a ‘battle maniac’ according to Anazurhe, the Goblin Witch Chieftain of the Molten Stone tribe. Naumel had resisted calls to join Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe, and he had been described as the sort who might have refused the Goblin King himself if he’d been alive when Velan had rampaged across Izril.
Okay, that wasn’t fair about Mrsha…Rags’ mind was organized like a filing cabinet, which she had in her office in Goblinhome. It did her a lot of good as she was picked up by her legs, spitting out seawater, and Naumel punched her again—then dunked her in the water.
Rags made the mistake of trying to spit out water, and she was half-drowned again by the time she emerged, flailing. She saw a huge grin on Naumel’s face. He raised a fist, and faced with the prospect of more punches to her face—Rags gasped a single word in Goblin.
When she surfaced, warily, ready to cast a [Fireball] in that bastard’s face if he tried to grab her again, Naumel was gone. He was striding back, fists raised, and his tribe was cheering. Rags swam after him and saw Redscar was down.
Naumel roared in delight. His Goblins whooped and cheered and let their ‘comrades’ up. One offered Redscar a hand as the Fomirelin got off him. He slapped the smiling Goblin’s claw down.
The other Goblins stopped cheering as the Hob fell on his back. Redscar turned to Rags, who was poking at her ruined crossbow. It was further bent; the explosion had really damaged it and snapped the wire. Plus, that idiot had stepped on it! She gave Redscar a gloomy look, and he rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Naumel gave both him and Rags a curious stare.
The big Chieftain, Naumel, pointed at a bunch of Goblins skipping stones into the sea and prizing molluscs off the rocks for a snack. Some were roasting food on fires sheltered from the water by the press of bodies, but his finger aimed at a group of surly Goblins sitting next to two Wyverns, wings folded up miserably against the spray of water.
Naumel’s brows crossed. He was basking in his victory as he devoured day-old steaks. Rags didn’t eat hers. Firstly, they were a day old; no refrigeration or preservation spells on them. Gross, despite them being charred.
A huge finger poked Rags again, and she turned to Naumel, who was chewing on two steaks at once. He was a huge Goblin. He had a broad, flat face, very like a shark’s, but his wits still reminded her of Grimalkin, not Relc. Untidy dreadlocks reminded her of the seaweed he had emerged from when she’d seen him attacking the caravan; a colossus rising from the deep.
It explained why Rags had gotten five minutes into introducing herself before Naumel had punched her. The Goblin rubbed at her chest, and Naumel’s brows crossed.
It explained why Rags had gotten five minutes into introducing herself before Naumel had punched her. The Goblin rubbed at her chest, and Naumel’s brows crossed.
She jumped to her feet; he was so tall it barely made up for the height difference. Rags was five foot something these days, but Naumel was too big to countenance. She’d never met a Goblin like him. Tremborag didn’t count. He’d been able to turn into a giant, one even bigger than Naumel, actually. But he’d had to revert back to the fat Hob after only a few minutes of fighting.
