Windy with a Chance of Goblins

Amber sees Wolfgang get struck. Instinct takes over—she steps in front of him, determined to shield him from the hail of arrows. Her hand grips the locked door’s handle. “Just open the bloody door,” Wolfgang snaps.

Confused, Amber looks to Masaki, knowing this wasn’t the original plan. “Dillon, unlock it,” she calls out. “I’ll hold it shut.” She braces herself.

Dillon dashes forward, unlocks the door, and retreats. Amber waits. Wolfgang mocks, “All these laggards—just open the proper door. Or as Miss Ablaze would say, ‘open the freaking door.’”

Taking that as her cue, Amber flings the door open. Daiki moves swiftly through and tries to leap behind the stairs. He lands safely, gust barrier swirling around him.

Amber stays put, still shielding Wolfgang. He raises his talons. “Let’s fire a rain upon thee,” he declares, casting Sacred Flame. A goblin screeches, flailing as radiant fire scorches his hands and face.

Ashira hears movement. “Very good,” she mutters, and casts Vicious Mockery. “That stomping makes you sound really, really fat.” The goblin shrugs it off. She retreats further, still playing her drums.

Masaki, annoyed, stays back. “I will hold the fort,” he says, watching the chaos unfold.

The goblins surge forward. One slashes at Daiki and misses. Others loose arrows—some strike true. Amber grunts as two sink into her. 

Daiki reinforces his gust barrier. “Step aside,” Amber shouts. He leaps over a pipe, still within reach of the enemy.

Amber barrels through the doorway, rage igniting. She slides down the oily stairs, bursts into flame, and incinerates a goblin in a blast of fire. The stairs blaze around her. Goblins scream, scorched by the burning oil. One collapses. Amber kicks his corpse into the sewer with a satisfying splash, planting herself among the flames.

“Fireball the girl on fire,” Wolfgang mutters and strides ahead. Flames dance before him—no mere blaze, but a solid wall of fire, searing and impassable. He squints toward the goblins beyond, vision almost useless through the burning light.

Beneath him, fetid sewer water flows slowly to the right, barely two feet deep. Goblin bodies float—one already far downstream, another bobbing nearby. 

He spreads his wings, lifts from the ground, and begins to whisper in a strange, ancient tongue. Wind gathers around him. Amber perks up—she understands the words. “Let the wind rise like a phoenix,” Wolfgang intones, “Let the wind blow you apart.” A powerful gust surges forth, howling through the tunnel, aiming to shove the goblins off balance and disrupt the fire.

The effect is immediate. The fire dims, smothered slightly by the conjured wind. The goblins, caught in the gale, struggle against the force. Bodies tumble into the water—one, then another, then more, the wind overwhelming them in a comical cascade of failure. Some try to cling to the sewer walls, others drift helplessly away. Bones crack as one limp body slams against a stone wall.

Meanwhile, Ashira sits with her drum, seething. She lifts her voice, targeting a goblin she hears nearby. “It smells so rancid in here—I guess that’s your failure.” The insult lands with cruel precision. Though unseen, the goblin’s reaction is clear to Daiki—he weeps and shudders, wounded more by words than any weapon.

Masaki peeks around a corner. Calm amid chaos, he assesses the scene. Seeing Daiki safe and Amber holding her own, he draws the longbow Wolfgang gave him. With practiced ease, he fires at the crying goblin. The arrow strikes true, ending the goblin’s misery in a dramatic, slow-motion collapse.

As more goblins flounder in the sewer water, some manage to grab hold of the edge, struggling to climb out—only to find no mercy waiting.

Amber charges through the wind toward them, sword in hand. She swings wide but misses. Frustrated but focused, she renews her rage, preparing for another strike.

Above, Wolfgang hovers ten feet in the air. The gust still pours from him, and with a gesture, he shifts its angle downward, channeling the wind into the water below.

Daiki, watching this unfold, responds. Channeling energy through his staff, he causes the sewer water to bloom—algae and watercress surge, curling around the goblins. The plants rot and strangle them in place, necrotic magic leeching their strength. One by one, they shrivel and die, sinking under the green. As they perish, delicate flowers and dandelion seeds rise from their corpses. They swirl gently through the air, drifting to Wolfgang. The magic takes root in him, restoring his strength. He breathes in, bolstered by the sacrifice.

Wolfgang continues flapping his wings, the gust of wind swirling around him. He looks at Daiki, a sharp grin on his face. “Excellent work, Daiki. You lead the charts with six goblins. You left no one for me.” His eyes scan the room, seeking any stragglers, but there are none. The area is quiet now.

He takes a few steps forward, cautious, still on alert. The tension lingers, but the threat has passed. Preparing for any sudden movement, Wolfgang readies a sacred flame. Amber, still holding onto her rage, glances around, not ready to let her guard down.

Wolfgang, ever dramatic, flaps harder. “Charge, charge, charge!” he shouts, soaring ahead with renewed energy.

Daiki pokes his head through a gate. “Ash, you can come out now. They’re all dead.”

Masaki’s voice cuts in. “Wouldn’t it have been better to keep one of them alive? You know, to lead us to Hugo? Why did they all have to die?”

“They were in the water,” Daiki says with a shrug. “Let’s move.”

“Was that plan B?” Masaki asks.

“Plan B is bury everything under the ground,” Daiki replies bluntly.

As they move deeper into the sewers, the scene shifts. Improvised bridges stretch across the water. A fire smolders in the center, now snuffed out by Wolfgang’s gust. Bones litter the area, and a chest waits in the corner.

“We shouldn’t linger,” Daiki says. “Focus. Keep going.”

“I agree,” Wolfgang says, blowing out the fire completely. As he flies over, he chants in Primordial, completely in his element.

They discuss the map briefly, realizing they’ve found the other entrance—one they’d deemed unsafe earlier. “Let’s go south,” Daiki urges. “The tavern was that way.”

Amber points out that the goblin bodies have floated to the other side, trapped behind a metal grate. “That’s disgusting,” she mutters.

Wolfgang raises an eyebrow. “Let’s leave them for loot later.”

“I like that: they look like they’ve been properly buried,” Daiki muses dryly. “With little flowers. Now, where’s the entrance?”

They push forward, navigating broken gates. Ash shines her lantern down a shadowed corridor, casting silhouettes of Wolfgang and Amber onto the far wall.

“Anyone in front of me will need to brace themselves,” Wolfgang warns. “Fifteen feet of wind, minimum.”

They run onward. A door looms ahead.

Ash, caught in the gust, is blown gently against the door, her hair flowing dramatically like a scene from a music video. Ash offers no resistance. She simply clings to the door, red hair streaming behind her like a flag in the wind.

Masaki opens the door. The wind blasts forward again.

And then—“Goblins!” he shouts, as he is pushed into the next chamber by Wolfgang’s wind.

---

Wolfgang creeps forward, eyes narrowed. He barely glimpses the goblin ahead, partially hidden behind cover, but just enough in view. With a sweep of his taloned hand, radiant energy crackles into a sacred flame and bursts downward. The goblin, nimble and alert, darts aside — untouched.

Frustrated, Wolfgang turns his attention to the ongoing gust of wind. “I’m annoyed,” he mutters, shifting the magical wind’s direction to engulf the elusive goblin. 

Daiki slips in beneath Wolfgang, who hovers just ten feet above the ground. As Daiki moves, he notices the stream of wind rushing overhead. With a sharp flick, he lashes out a conjured corn whip at the goblin. The whip snaps around its neck — blood sprays into the air, catching the wind and splattering violently against the wall. “Ew,” Daiki grimaces, gore painting the room red.

The goblins retaliate. One pushes through the wind’s resistance and slashes Masaki with a crude blade. Another scrambles over a table, looses an arrow — it misses. A third fires and misses as well.

Masaki braces himself but the wind overpowers him. He and one goblin are hurled backward. Regaining his footing, Masaki lunges with his shortsword, but the strike goes wide. With no better option, he maneuvers around the goblins, trying to escape the turbulent air.

Then, a new figure enters. A thin goblin in a well-tailored suit and glasses cracks a whip. “Come on, you filthy animals! You can do better than this!” His voice is sharp, commanding. From the shadows, another goblin emerges — an assassin — and hurls a dagger at Masaki. It flies wide.

The assassin closes in.

Masaki barely has time to react before a blade slashes him across the side. Blood spurts, and a sharp pain blossoms — he’s wounded, and worse, he’s bleeding. The wound pulses, a dangerous trickle of life with every heartbeat.

Then, another assassin leaps from hiding onto the table, eyes locked on Masaki. Dagger raised.

Amber hears the clash of weapons and shouting in the next room. Her rage still boils beneath the surface. She pushes forward, fire flickering in her palm as she lobs a Produce Flame toward the nearest goblin — but the shot goes wide. Frustrated, she snarls and maintains her fury.

Ashira steps up next. She eyes Masaki, wounded and swaying. “Come on, Bana, stay in the fight,” she calls, casting Healing Word. A warm glow washes over Masaki, knitting some of his wounds. Then, Ashira turns to a goblin, voice dripping with disdain: “You fit right in here with all the trash—because you’re trash yourself.” The goblin winces, visibly shaken.

Wolfgang, ever the dramatic, addresses the party with a smirk. “Miss Ashira, your insults are vulgar.” He strides forward, the gust of wind fading. His ring glows purple, a matching light flaring in his eye. He hexes the northern goblin, lifts his crossbow — and fires. A clean shot. The bolt tears through the assassin’s head and pins it to a table. The goblin twitches, not yet realizing it’s dead.

From the side, Daiki steps forward, climbing onto a piano. His staff glows. He slams it down on another goblin’s head with a crunch. The creature collapses, motionless. “Stay down,” Daiki says. “We have to solve this peacefully.”

Masaki, bloodied but breathing, steadies himself. He breathes deep and heals with a burst of will. Sword in hand, he slashes at the goblin Ashira insulted—but misses. He curses under his breath, frustration etched in every line of his face.

Then Amber, axe in hand, grins. “I’m gonna smash,” she says. The first swing misses—but Daiki offers her encouragement. With renewed strength, she swings again, landing a brutal hit. The goblin reels, and she immediately turns her attention to the next.

Ashira inches into the ruined room, her boots crunching against broken glass and shattered wood. A foul, familiar air hits her — the wreckage here stirs memories of a tavern her family might’ve once run. “I hate it. Actively hate it,” she mutters, eyes narrowing.

She surveys the battlefield and spots a goblin standing dumbly atop a table. “You’re definitely the ugliest one around here,” she calls out with a sneer. The insult lands hard. The goblin stares, trembling, before bursting into tears so violently his eyes pop out — he crumples, dead.

Ashira smirks. “Oh, this one’s even uglier,” she adds as another tear rolls from the goblin’s empty sockets.

Nearby, Wolfgang strides forward and raises his voice. “Mr. Barnault! We bring greetings from your brother and request an audience with your queen. Please call off your goblins.”

A rough voice responds, bitter and confused. “My sister? What would you want with my sister?”

“I want to discuss the camp infestations and the damage done to the city,” Wolfgang offers. He tries to reason further, but his words falter, lacking conviction. His magical hex clings faintly to Barnault, a barely visible shimmer.

From behind broken piano keys, Daiki steps out. He eyes the well-dressed, grimy leader in the back. “Time for you to come out of your shadows,” he calls. With practiced motion, he flings a hooked rib toward the target — but one of the hidden assassins leaps in the way, taking the hit instead. The weapon latches on, and Daiki yanks the body closer, though it does little. “Thick skin,” he mutters. He braces in place, ready for more.

One last goblin, panicked, slashes at Masaki and bolts. Masaki moves to counter, but the creature’s nimble escape makes him untouchable. He scrambles atop a table, desperate for safety.

Masaki takes cover behind a nearby table and raises his voice. “We seek peace. No more bloodshed between species in this city. We want a future without fear.”

Barnault scoffs. “And who decides the city belongs to her?”

In the back, the gangly leader fires arrows at Daiki, missing wildly. Frustration etches itself across his face as he steps forward, snarling.

Suddenly, a goblin assassin cloaked in shadows dashes toward Daiki, slashing him with a wicked blade before a veil of magical darkness blooms around him. Ten feet of sightless gloom swallows the area.

Elsewhere, Amber dashes across the battlefield, vaulting the bar with surprising ease — and straight into an ambush. A goblin assassin lunges from hiding, slashing her viciously. Blood spatters. Amber grits her teeth. The pain fuels her rage, and she plants herself face-to-face with the enemy. “Still standing,” she growls.

Darkness swallows Daiki. He can’t see a thing, but he senses movement—something small, clumsy. A goblin, failing to stay hidden.

Daiki doesn’t wait. “I don’t trust anything I can’t sense,” he mutters, and conjures a swirling wind around himself, flowers on his staff spinning in response. He slips away into the shadows.

A goblin catches sight of him emerging from the darkness and lunges forward with a shout. The blade hits—barely—but the goblin is immediately blasted backward by Daiki’s defense, thrown ten feet through the air and slammed to the ground. It scrambles to its feet, dazed, then scurries away across the room.

Masaki makes his move. He hops onto a table, longbow drawn, and looses an arrow toward a goblin perched on the bar. The shot goes wide. The goblin throws up its hands in fright. Masaki falters. “Usually I’m better than this,” he says quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “Next one’s between your eyes.”

Nearby, Hugo cracks his whip— not aiming at the adventurers, but instead striking a goblin. A strange energy pulses over the creature’s skin, toughening it. Hugo grins. “Maybe we should just talk,” he offers, almost too casually.

Amber doesn’t take the bait. The assassin near her slashes, the blade biting into her, but she stands her ground. Another goblin flanks her, takes advantage of the distraction, and strikes again—Amber winces as blood seeps from another wound.

Amid the chaos, another goblin slips through the darkness, unseen. It finds Masaki and lashes out with its blade, slicing into him before disappearing once more into the magical gloom. No one sees him bleed.

Amber turns to Hugo. “Masaki said not to kill him,” she mutters. Her hesitation turns to frustration. “Fine,” she growls, hefting her axe. “Just going for unconscious.” She swings.

Ashira, standing in darkness, smirks. “I don’t need to see him to insult him.” She flings her words like daggers at Hugo: “It’s so much better now that I don’t see your face.” He barely flinches, brushing off the insult. Ashira sighs, glances toward Wolfgang, then decides he looks stable enough. She shifts her position, trying to get a clearer view.

Wolfgang glides forward, his tone sharp. “Mr. Barnault, when will you finally start to reason with us?” With a flick of his hand, his curse shifts to a new target. He raises his crossbow, takes aim, and fires.

Daiki emerges from the darkness, bloodied but determined. Spotting Amber nearby and the assassin still standing, he notices the arrow lodged in the enemy’s shoulder. “I can help with that,” he mutters, and lashes out with a whip of thorns. The barbed vines latch onto the assassin, dragging him closer as they tear through flesh.

Even as he pulls the assassin forward, Daiki stumbles back a few steps, clearly not in good shape. “I’m not feeling too well,” he mumbles, retreating to safety.

Nearby, a goblin hesitates, weighing his chances. He chooses to flee, risking Amber’s wrath. She swings her greatsword in a blur, missing the goblin—but the sheer force still wounds him. The goblin charges Masaki, but the blow misses.

Masaki reacts swiftly. Though shrouded in darkness, he recalls the slash from moments earlier. He backs off, careful not to provoke another strike, then turns to face the assassin attacking Amber. His hand flashes with power. “Let’s try lightning,” he decides—and with a crack, the bolt strikes true. The assassin convulses, smoke curling off his hair, before collapsing with a final, twitching gasp.

Hugo, seeing the tide turn, throws up his hands. “Maybe we can talk. Let’s just sit down, take a moment.” He lowers himself onto a nearby crate, defeated.

Amber doesn’t wait. “Tell your goblins to drop their weapons,” she demands, pulling out a rope. Without ceremony, she begins binding Hugo to the crate. He doesn’t resist. “Smart,” she mutters, securing him tightly.

In the darkness, confusion reigns. The goblin assassin, blind and disoriented, panics. He tries to hide—but stumbles noisily. Mistaking a fellow goblin for an enemy, he lashes out and misses entirely.

Ashira steps forward, amused. “You’d think goblins could smell in the dark,” she calls out, “but I guess you just smell yourself.” Her words cut deeper than expected—the goblin winces audibly in the shadows.

She surveys the field, eyes flicking from the chaos to Daiki, who’s visibly wounded. Her tone softens. “Oh no, Daiki.”