Kulthar

Chapter 3

The smells and tastes of dust fill my head once again. My crown remains sore as I rise and look about the wreckage of rocks. My ax and food bag both lay atop the snow toward the rocks. My head throbs and my muscles ache a paralyzing ache that almost pins me down. Thinning my will to get up, and enabling my urges to go back to sleep. The bright sun shines down upon all of the white, frosty mountains; striking my eyes with a burning, blinding sight. As I slowly raise upward to my feet, something towering above me caught itself in the corner of my eye. My chest sinks deep down into my stomach, my heart sting in shock, and my blood blisters as my face blanches in fear.

It looms above the dead body, hunched over it, dangling its arms down to pick it apart. Very slowly, silently, it stands there still as stone. Almost frozen in its stance. The wooden sign next to the body read beware of goln. Something else rustled in the woods toward the south. Another towering goln breeches the small bald spot of land right after the edge of trees as it begins to silently stride toward the dead bandit. The wood-like creaking of their joints moan and groan like tree limbs. As they stretch their arms at the dead body, their bones squeak like tension on a wooden plank; beating me with the fear of my joints being ripped from their sockets. Their faceless mouths gaze down at the severed pieces in their hands, crunching down into the bones.

I hunch in the same crouch stance I had paused myself in, hoping I wouldn’t be seen. I grow more and more anxious as my knees begin to quiver. Sweat begins to drip down my pale face as my body trembles in terror. The two lumbering beasts tower high above me, picking apart the body like a chicken leg, eating the bones too. Each second went by like minutes since I stood in this position, frozen in fear, yet shaking in adrenaline. The feeling of pure doom remains flooded in my chest, knowing my chest could be ripped open any second. I wish for a fast death. It’s all over. There is no hope of getting out of this alive nor pleasantly. Even a fast death would be a painful one that would feel like ages of terror.

The beasts creaked and squeaked a bit as they slowly twist themselves towards the woods. They stay still like statues, aiming themselves at the woods preparing to snatch a new victim. My muscles begin to tremble more and more and grow weak. The cold air that flows into my nostrils begins to burn, and as they burn; the remaining, lingering, pungent aroma of the potion bottles had reintroduced itself. The scent of death burns my lungs, giving me the urge to cough. My throat begins to itch and scorch like I just ate the sun.

Both of the towering goln pick apart an animal they snatched up when I wasn’t paying attention. I literally divert my attention for a split second and a new prey has fallen victim to this terrible fate. I began to wonder about the mystery contents of the bottles. Could this be a device of death? The question had served a plan of attack.

I slowly creep towards the sack, holding my eyes aimed at the tall goln feasting upon the red stringy meat. My limbs shudder in crippling fear as I bend down and grope about the bag for the bottles. I could feel the searing heat course through my gauntlets as I clench the glass bottle. The two beasts keep their backs turned upon me, and with a hefty swing, the bottle soars into the air. Crunch! Floosh! As the bottle shatters upon its back, the creature bursts into a ball of fire. Filling the air with its unholy, deep, monstrous screams of hell as it descends onto the ground. The other monster, panicked, stretching into the woods like a wooden spider monkey the size of a tree bolting from a bigger threat. The air fills with the pungent stench of a spicy, fiery doom. My lungs and throat begin to itch. I cough and gag like I swallowed a lump of firey coal. Wheezing in pain, I sprint away from the blaze into the trees with nowhere to go.

I stop myself in my tracks as I begin to feel the emptiness in my hands and back. My loot, battle-ax, and helmet lay in the snow pretty close to the charred remains of the goln. Rushing back into the deadly fumes, I grasp my breath and snatch up the bag. My helmet packs my hair up against the back of my neck as I slide it on. I gag violently trying to ease the itchy lungs as they flood with the smokey, putrid fumes of death. Battleax in hand, I sprint once again into the icy woods coughing up my soul.