The Commander and a Close Shave

The formation held in the depths. Goblins threw themselves at the Company’s rescue party. The commander had impaled and cut down many of the vanguard goblin warriors, and his fellows had done much the same. Between the dwarven screaming of Kildwin and the exasperated war cries of Furley, the commander struggled to keep order with the rest of his troops. The less experienced warriors stood shoulder to shoulder with the trained veterans and had taken quickly to Kildwin’s formation training. It was surely saving their skins.
    Altheric barked out more orders as more goblin skirmishes approached from every twist and turn in the tunnels. A goblin screamed at the commander and threw a javelin at him. It pounded painfully into his mail hauberk and knocked the wind out of him. Another pair of goblins leaped from the darkness and toppled Altheric over. The filthy mottled hands of his opponents tried to pry his helmet off of his head as he lay prone. He gasped as he saw one of those hands brandish a wicked dagger dangerously near his face. He pressed the shaft of his halberd into the cluster of cackling foes, but they were too many and piled upon him, trapping his weapon across his chest.
    The weapons of his allies cut down the bodies of many of his assailants and Altheric now saw his chance. He dropped his halberd and grabbed for the throats of two goblins, squeezing them tightly and growling through gritted teeth. He felt the throats of the goblins collapse within his mailed hands. The only curse they could manage were muffled by gurgling gasps and soon they fell lifeless to the ground.
    He quickly gathered his weapon and adjusted his helm, his eyes darted from one end of the cavern to the other. His quick survey revealed that the company had taken no losses and few injuries. He could not say the same for the goblins of the Misty Mountains. Now if they can only find Deorla and the remnants of her party.