The rest of Argon's grim journey home trudged along uneventfully. Each step he took echoed off the crumbling walls of his hovel, the only dwelling he could claim in this accursed place. As he pushed open the creaking door, the harsh reality of his existence bore down on him. Navigating the shadows and squalor, he shed his armour, each piece clattering onto the worn floor, echoing the harsh notes of his life. His dwelling, a constant reminder of his survival on the fringes, bore into his very soul with a promise: he needed to escape this pit.
His only reprieve, a rough, cold pallet, offered little comfort. As his eyes fought against sleep, he felt every creak of the wind-battered structure, every distant murmur from the godforsaken streets of Duskhaven. Fear lay beside him, an uninvited bedfellow whispering of the danger lurking in every shadow. Each moment hammered in the harsh truth: safety was a privilege he couldn't afford.
The raw dawn light leaked in through the cracks, and with it, an aching, primal need stirred within Argon. The longing for the warmth of a woman, for a few stolen moments of pleasure, taunted him. But he was no fool to waste his scarce coins on such fleeting comfort. The harsh winds of survival blew away any thoughts of indulgence.
Shaking off the pull of his desires, he shoved his body into the cold embrace of his rags and armour. Each clang echoed the savage rhythm of his destiny. Today was the day to face the goblin menace, a bleak step towards survival in the unforgiving land of Nekros.
A bitter farewell to his bleak refuge, and Argon was back on the streets of Duskhaven, swallowed by the endless twilight. He marched south, each step a grim dance with destiny.
Argon's journey south was a harsh symphony of grating wind and stinging dust, a journey he was now familiar with. The worn path beneath his feet bore the weight of countless travellers, desperate souls like him, seeking their fortunes among the hidden treasures and lurking beasts of Nekros. Each step took him further from the grim familiarity of Duskhaven and deeper into the savage wilderness, his new armour clanking rhythmically as if keeping time with his heartbeat.
In the days that followed, Argon found himself frequently wandering through the forest. There was something about its dense cover, the crisp morning air, and the serenity that was comforting. His boots crunched over dry leaves, birds chirped from the trees, and the wind rustled through the canopies overhead.
Every morning, he'd rise at the crack of dawn. He'd don his armour and take up his new trusted sword. Once he was ready, he'd step out into the cool morning, the first light of day breaking across the horizon, and head towards the forest.
His steps were quiet, deliberate, as he traversed the uneven forest floor. His eyes would flicker about, catching any sign of movement, any irregularity. He'd pause every now and then, his ears straining to catch any noise that didn't belong - the rustle of leaves, the snapping of twigs, the murmur of voices. He'd peer through the foliage, his gaze sweeping over the tree line, searching for any sign of the goblins.
At times, he'd find himself surrounded by the verdant beauty of the forest - the towering trees reaching towards the sky, the carpet of leaves and plants on the ground, and the vibrant hues of flowers dotting the landscape. He'd sit for a while, his back against a tree trunk, and take it all in, the calmness seeping into him. He'd take out a piece of dried meat or fruit from his pouch, chewing on it as he surveyed the area.
Then, as the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and red, he'd start his journey back. He'd tread the familiar path back to their modest dwelling, the fading light guiding his way.
By the time he reached their home, night would have descended, and he would prepare a meal. He'd remove his armour, wash up in a nearby stream and think of his observations from his day in the forest.
Days passed, yet his quest to find the goblins remained fruitless. But Argon was undeterred. There was a sense of peace in these solitary pursuits, a sense of purpose. And he knew when the time was right; he would find what he was seeking. Until then, he would continue his routine, trusting in his resilience and determination.
Argon's encounter with the goblins wasn't a pretty sight. He was walking along a rugged trail when he heard a shrill, chittering noise. He turned to see two ugly little cunts charging at him, their green skin glistening under the sun. He'd barely had time to draw his weapon before they were upon him.
He started by dicing the first cunt right down the middle, a smooth cut from head to groin. The goblin's body fell apart, blood spattering onto Argon's boots. He barely had time to enjoy the sight before the second goblin was upon him.
He met this one with a hard slash across its chest, the blow so powerful it threw the goblin off its feet and onto the ground. It let out a gurgling cry, clawing at the gaping wound as its lifeblood spilt onto the dirt. Argon didn't wait to watch it die.
He whirled around, his blade singing in the air as he met the charge of the other goblins. They were dumb cunts, but there were five of them, and they swarmed him like bees.
"Come on, you ugly fucks!" Argon roared, slashing and hacking. He was a whirlwind of steel and blood, each cut of his blade finding its mark. He'd gutted two before the rest got wise and decided to charge him all at once.
Two of the vile creatures skulked past him, their ugly snouts sniffing the air with casual obliviousness. The sight of the vile creatures steeled his resolve, and with a swift, practised motion, he sent his spear whistling through the air, impaling one goblin and painting the path crimson with its vile blood.
The creature's death shriek echoed in the barren landscape, freezing the remaining goblin in its tracks. Overcome by primitive terror, it took off, its scrawny legs propelling it towards the safety of its lair. Argon watched it with a predator's grin, following the creature to a crude hole dug into the earth.
Descending into the piss-stinking goblin hole, Argon tightened his grip on his freshly forged blade. The dank tunnel expanded into a pockmarked cavern, writhing with the scaly green flesh of goblin vermin. Bright with malice, their beady eyes reflected the scant light leaking from the world above.
Without hesitation, Argon launched himself into the seething mass of creatures. His blade flashed with ruthless intent, slicing through the grubby flesh of goblins, splintering brittle bone and spattering gory entrails across the damp, stony ground. Screams of panic echoed through the cavern as the twisted bodies of goblins fell in heaps around him, their squalid blood seeping into the cracks and crevices of the cave floor.
Despite their pathetic numbers, five goblins broke free from the tumultuous crowd, the terror in their eyes replaced by a rabid determination. They charged Argon, crude blades held aloft, teeth bared in desperate snarls. Meeting their attack head-on, Argon cut down three of them with merciless slashes. The guttural cries of the dying creatures reverberated off the cave walls as they collapsed in a mess of blood and gore.
But the last two goblins, fuelled by suicidal desperation, tackled Argon to the rough ground. A jagged blade loomed over him, poised for a killing blow when his artefact burst into life. An ethereal shield shimmered into existence, repelling the lethal strike. The sudden manifestation of power stunned the creatures, offering Argon the necessary break.
Rising with a primal roar, Argon swept his blade through the goblins, crushing their skulls into a grotesque pulp. Their bodies crumpled to the cave floor, their lifeblood mingling with the rivulets of goblin gore already staining the rocks.
Argon swept through the goblin horde, collecting the severed left ears of the slain creatures. The gruesome trophies, fourteen in total, were tossed into a bag, a grim reminder of his brutal victory.
Pushing deeper into the cavern, Argon's eyes fell on a sight that made his blood run cold. Huddled in the dank corner of the goblin den were three young women. Their bodies were emaciated, their flesh sallow and marred with the filthy handprints of goblin claws. They were stripped of their dignity and their humanity, reduced to playthings for the vile creatures.
The cruel reality of their fate was etched on their faces, which bore a vacant expression of despair. Their hollowed eyes, filled with a terror that no human being should ever know, stared out from gaunt faces. Filth and grime clung to them, their tattered clothing barely covering their violated bodies.
The one in the middle was in the worst state. She was twitching, her eyes darting around aimlessly as her cracked lips formed words that didn't make sense. "Can you see them?" she babbled, her voice hoarse from screaming. "They're coming... they're coming for us... the shadows... they're alive..."
Argon realized with a sinking feeling that she wasn't talking to him. Her mind, unable to bear the torment she had endured, had snapped. She was lost in her own nightmare, far beyond any help he could offer.
A heavy sadness settled over Argon. He had seen a lot in his short time in Nekros, but this... this was a new level of horror. These girls had been brutally tortured, reduced to insanity and desolation. Even if they survived, they would be scarred for life, their spirits forever tarnished by the unspeakable atrocities they had suffered.
They were as good as dead, their lives extinguished by the sadistic whims of the goblins. It was a fate worse than death, and Argon decided to end their suffering. It was a mercy; he told himself as he swung his blade, a quick end to their prolonged torment.
As their lifeless bodies fell to the ground, Argon felt a burning rage deep within. The world of Nekros was a cruel, unforgiving place where even the most basic tenets of humanity were trampled upon. He swore a silent oath then, vowing to bring to justice any who indulged in such monstrous acts. No matter who, no matter where he would not rest until the balance was restored.
Stepping back into the forest, Argon made good use of his time hunting mole rats. He maintained a safe distance, spearing the critters with precise strikes. The 12 cores he harvested would fetch a reasonable price back in Duskhaven, each bit of income crucial in the cutthroat world of Nekros. As Argon navigated his way back to civilization, the harsh reality of his path lay starkly before him. His life in this brutal world was just beginning, and it promised only blood and struggle.