The night was cloaked in a heavy, oppressive silence as the Hobgoblins made their camp on the barren wasteland.
The air was thick with tension, the ground beneath them hard and unyielding. The sky was clear, but the twin moons cast an eerie, blood-red glow over the landscape, adding to the ominous atmosphere.
Ten thousand Hobgoblins filled the desolate plain, their campfires scattered like malevolent stars in a twisted constellation. The fires crackled and hissed, casting flickering shadows that danced menacingly across the ground.
The Hobgoblins moved about their camp with a grim purpose, their guttural voices and harsh laughter creating a discord that seemed to make the very earth tremble.
Two towering figures stood out among the throng, the Hobgoblin Generals. One was a hulking Berserker, his massive frame covered in thick, scarred armor. His eyes burned with a feral intensity, and his breath came out in ragged, growling huffs.
The Berserker General carried a massive war axe, its blade stained with the blood of countless foes. He paced restlessly near his fire, the ground shaking with each heavy footfall.
The other was a lean, sinewy figure, the Ranger General. His movements were swift and silent, his keen eyes constantly scanning the horizon. He wore dark, mottled armor that blended seamlessly with the shadows, and a quiver of deadly arrows hung at his side.
His bow, intricately carved and well-worn from countless battles, was never far from his grasp. The Ranger General communicated with his scouts in hushed tones, his voice a sharp contrast to the Berserker's bellowing.
The Hobgoblins were a fearsome sight, their grotesque features illuminated by the firelight. Their skin ranged from sickly green to a deep, bruised purple, their eyes glinting with malice.
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They sharpened their weapons, the metallic scraping sound a constant, unnerving presence.
The scent of their crude, hastily prepared meals mingled with the acrid stench of sweat and blood, creating a miasma that hung heavy in the air.
The Hobgoblins ate quickly, their sharp teeth tearing into meat with savage hunger, all the while casting wary glances around them. They knew that the calm of the night was only a prelude to the storm of battle that awaited them.
He darted through the underbrush, his small form barely noticeable in the dim light, but the Hobgoblins were relentless.
Pup's paws pounded against the hard earth as he weaved through the rained arrows, narrowly avoiding the grasp of a Hobgoblin who lunged at him.
He skidded under a low-hanging piece of canvas, emerging on the other side just as another scout swung a club where his head had been moments before. The air was filled with the sounds of pursuit –– harsh voices, clattering armor, and the heavy footfalls of his pursuers.
Desperation fueled Pup's flight. He had been lax around the village before, but this was the first time Rain had given him a serious mission. Despite being weak and little, Rain had given this important mission to him. Failure was not an option.
Besides, he couldn't die –– not until the Hobgoblins were eradicated for killing his family.
He dashed towards a thicket, hoping to lose his pursuers in the dense foliage. A sharp arrow whizzed past his ear, embedding itself in a dead tree trunk inches from his head.
Pup's breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself harder, his muscles burning with exertion. He leaped over a fallen log, his keen senses picking up the rustling of air and the scent of safety just beyond.
But the Hobgoblins were closing in. Pup could hear them crashing through the underbrush, their guttural shouts growing louder.
In a last-ditch effort, he veered towards a narrow dry ravine, its steep walls offering a potential escape route. He scrambled down the rocky slope, his claws scraping against the stone as he fought to maintain his footing.
Halfway down, a large boulder dislodged and tumbled down after him, narrowly missing him but creating a cloud of dust and debris that momentarily obscured him from his pursuers.
Pup took advantage of the cover, darting into a small crevice in the ravine wall. He pressed himself into the shadows, holding his breath as the Hobgoblins stormed past, unaware of his hiding spot.
The minutes stretched into an eternity as Pup waited, his heart pounding in his chest. When the sounds of pursuit finally faded, he cautiously emerged from the crevice, his body trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion. He had barely escaped with his life, but he had done it.
With no time to waste, Pup turned and made his way back towards the village.