The Iron Teeth

Along Twisted Paths 1

"Arrrgh. Die!" the hobgoblin snarled in rage as he stared at his target with beady hate filled eyes.

With vicious intent he swung the axe in his hands down with all his might. The muscles in his back burned as he guided the sharp edge towards his defenceless target. The blade bit into the soft flesh of the log and cleaved right through it. Two equal sized pieces of wood flopped down onto the ground with hollow thud, leaving the axe head imbedded in the stump beneath it.

"Meh, that time wasn't too bad. You're still putting too much effort into your swings, though. Just let the axe fall and you don't need to yell everytime," the old human ranger named Saeter remarked casually from where he was seated several feet away.

Blacknail gave him an annoyed look as he tugged on the axe handle to free it.

"Screaming makes the axe hit-ss harder and faster" he pointed out.

"Maybe, but you're scaring the neighbours," the old scout replied.

Blacknail looked around. Their neighbours were all hardened outlaws and members of Herad the Black Snake's bandit company. Most of them were used to the hobgoblin in their midst by now; a little yelling wasn't going to alarm them much. It wasn't like he was burning down the camp again.

"Why am I even doing this? It's boring and making me hungry," Blacknail whined.

The hobgoblin had to suppress the urge to snarl and spit as a sudden wave of anger rose within him. The rush of energy made his teeth ache. Living among humans required that he constantly fight his violent urges.

Yelling while chopping helped him suppress his rage, and it was one of the few ways to do it that wouldn't annoy his chieftain nor require him to dig any graves. Digging was hard work and he preferred to avoid it.

"Chopping wood is great for your back and will help your swordcraft. Plus, it's getting damned cold out at night so we need the wood," Saeter remarked.

Blacknail felt like asking his master why he wasn't chopping wood then, but he suspected he already knew the answer. Besides, his master was right; it was getting bloody cold out.

Over a week had passed since the attack on Herad's camp by the knights that had come looking for the ghouls Herad had wiped out. The days had been steadily getting shorter as Autumn grew older. The smothering white of winter would soon descend upon the North.

Blacknail wasn't really used to staying above ground when darkness descended so the cold bothered him. He used to live in the sewer under a city to the South, before he'd been imprisoned and placed in a merchant caravan. Saeter had been the one who ahd freed him when Herad's band had attacked the merchants.

There hadn't been a lot of perks involved in living in a mucky cramped sewer but it had stayed warm in the winter. Of course, he'd only been a little goblin back then and not a magnificent hobgoblin.

Blacknail set a new piece of wood on top of the log and raised the axe above his head. With a grunt of effort he brought it down again and continued his work.

Chopping firewood was annoying but it did supply his with a steady stream of stuff to burn. Blacknail loved feeding fire until it grew huge and roared wildly.

The dancing red and orange flames were so pretty. They made him feel like laughing and clapping his hands together.

"Do we have enough twine?" Saeter asked the hobgoblin as he idly whittled away at a wooden figurine.

"We have-ss enough for all the snares and to tie up the wood-ss," Blacknail replied dryly.

His master was clearly just looking for something to make him do. They always needed more rope and twine but creating it was a chore. It had to be carefully twisted from specially prepared plant fibres. Ugh, it was annoying even to think about!