Session 11: The Cave Entrance

The afternoon light dwindles as you and your Father step into the cave. Darkness wraps around you, only barely kept at bay by the torch in your hand. Damp stone echoes each movement, mostly the clank of his armor. The metal plates drown everything but your heartbeat. You advance behind your Father, sword in your right hand, torch in your left. He creeps forward half‑crouched, shield raised, sword tucked under, practiced, careful, almost rehearsed.

“Does he practice with medieval weapons in his spare time?” you wonder, seeing the practiced discipline. Then consider if it’s part of the new world. Since realizing you have elf traits, you’ve considered other strange things about yourself. While you’ve never been a klutz, acrobatics have never been your strong suit, making your recent number of graceful landings unexpected. You wonder what else you might discover about yourself when your Father’s voice draws you from your thoughts.

“Can you see over me?” he asks between steps.

“Barely.”

“How far ahead?”

“Three, maybe five meters,” you say, holding the torch behind you to let your eyes adjust.

“Thank the Lord we don’t have to worry about traps,” he scoffs, stepping in a steady rhythm. “Listen—when they show up, I need you to tell me. If you don’t, we’re both dead. Understand?” His words cut harder than any goblin dagger. You flash to yesterday’s ambush. The blood, the dagger in your side, Nerr’s orange pooling on stone, dried slick on your gloves. All of it makes your knees wobble.

“Will I have to kill?” The thought sits like a stone in your mind. Thus far, you may have assisted, but you haven’t made a lethal strike yet. When the gnomish man attacked, you refused to draw your blade. Even during the ambush earlier, you only shot the goblin’s shield. But now, if they were to attack from behind… “I won’t have a choice. It’s me or them… right?”

Your ears perk, a reflex to a new sound. Farther in: grunts, footsteps, wood tapping stone.

“Dad,” you call, stepping directly behind him. “Up ahead, I hear—”

“Down,” he snaps in a low growl, dropping to a knee and sheltering behind his shield. You fold behind him, kneecaps smacking into the uneven stone floor. “How many?” he demands, adjusting the grip on his shield.

“I don’t know—few at least.”

“Torch,” he whispers, reaching back. You pass it over his shoulder. He tucks it behind the shield, blocking most forward light.

“Blade,” he orders. “If one gets behind me, you take care of it. We’re on their home turf, so who knows what kind of hidden cracks they’ll pop out from. If I get overwhelmed or killed, you drop everything and run. Don’t look back. Run until you’re out and at the village. Understand?”

“Just run? How am I supposed to—”

“Understand,” he repeats, his whisper shaking the cavern walls.

“Y‑yeah.”

“Good. Tell me when you see their eyes glow.”

You hold your breath, grip your sword tighter, and stare into the dark while he peers over the shield. The footsteps stop, but you still can’t see them in the dark.

“They stopped,” you whisper.

“Get ready to move,” is all he says.

*Clack*

*Clack*

*Skitter*

Without warning, he whips the torch forward. It clatters off the wall and skids to a stop not twenty feet away, but that’s enough. The faint torchlight illuminates the outline of the pack—shields, spears, axes, and a bow. One looks larger than the rest; it wears a dented helm and points a crooked finger towards you.

“Ubiti ih!” it cries, and the others charge.

Your Father answers in kind, shield up, blade ready.

*THUNK*

An arrow whizzes by, burying itself in his shield. He doesn’t break stride. He slams two goblins, sending them sprawling, and skewers a third with a straight thrust. His blade buries deep into the goblin's chest.

*ting*

Another arrow deflects off his helmet, clattering to the cavern floor. “LOOK FOR AN OPENING!” he calls back. You try, but his bulk and the jittering torch leave you nothing. The tunnel is too narrow to flank; his shield blocks you as much as the goblins.

“Spusti stit!” the rear goblin barks. The two in front grab the edge of his shield and drag it down with their weight. Strong as he is, he can’t outmuscle both with one arm, and the shield dips.

“Vatreni,” the back one says, light swells in its palm.

“Magic? No. Fire!” The realization leaves you stunned. As obvious as it sounds, you never considered that the goblins might use magic.

“Pad!” the goblin cries, hurling a ball of flame as its spell finishes. Your Father doesn’t flinch. He drops his sword, grabs the shield’s bottom lip, and heaves. The two clinging goblins lift like sacks right as the fireball closes.

*WOMP*

Flame splashes across a goblin’s back. It shrieks, echoing through the cave as it writhes on the floor.

*Crunch*

Your Father pivots and smashes the other goblin against the wall. You see his body pancake as it’s sandwiched between the shield and the wall. Your Father wheels toward the caster, drawing another short sword with his free hand. He sprints past the goblin, still rolling as the flames encompass its body without a glance. His whole focus is on the caster who squeezes another flame in his hand and hurls it like a baseball.

*WUFFF*

The blast ignites what’s left of your Father’s shield, but not his momentum. He drops the burning shield and clamps his gauntlet around the caster’s throat. Its struggle is short-lived as your Father jabs his sword into the caster's chest again and again. The goblin’s wheeze dies to a rasp as the life drains from its eyes. It’s quiet for a moment; your Father’s ragged breathing and the dripping of blood from the caster are the only sounds, as you take slow, cautious steps towards him. Then something breaks your line of sight. Something drops from above, landing so softly you wouldn't notice if it wasn’t directly in front of you. It only takes you a moment to realize it’s another goblin.

“Where’s he come from? ” you wonder, looking up. It’s only now that you realize the ceiling is covered with stalactites, hanging down, creating a jungle gym of handholds. “He must’ve climbed and swung,” you think, watching pull a bow from its back. You're awe-struck as the archer points an arrow at the red cross on your Father’s back.

“He’s about to turn and use the caster as a shield,” you think, watching your Father’s final stab at the goblin. But he doesn’t. For some reason, he remains focused on the caster in his hand.

“He doesn’t see the archer!” You realize too late. Dropping your sword and pulling a goblin arrow from the new quiver. You draw and aim, but it’s too late.

“DAD! WATCH OUT!” you cry, desperate as the arrow flies. The crude goblin craft arches, no more than a sharp stick, but it has deadly aim.

“AGH!” your Father cries, dropping the caster. The arrow managed to find a gap in his armor, wedging itself into the meat of his left arm. “GOTTA DO EVERYTHING MYSELF, HUH?” he yells, stomping back towards the archer. His voice is so intense that it makes you loose your drawn arrow.

*tonk*

It bounces off the stone right above the goblin’s head. He looks towards you and seems to notice your presence for the first time. Realizing he’s flanked, the archer begins dodging. It feints left, then right, then slides between your Father’s legs, only to pop up and sprint away. Your Father hurls his short sword, a desperate last attempt to stop the runaway.

“GAH!” Cold iron bites the goblin’s back as it falls face-first. Your Father catches up, pouncing on the goblin as it attempts to crawl away.

*Crack*

He stamps down, iron boots cracking bone and pinning the now-helpless goblin. Silence descends as he finishes the creature off with a slice to the neck.

Heavy breaths and slow drips are the only sounds for a moment. Your Father kneels on the corpse and pants. He lifts his helmet, wiping sweat as it drips from his skin. The battle had lasted for less than a minute, but he was already sweating like he'd run a marathon.

After a moment, he retrieves the torch and coaxes it brighter. He studies the arrow stuck in his arm before flexing his fingers on the shaft.

*yank*

He pulls the arrow free, slapping his palm to the wound. “Lord, heal my arm so I may keep fighting.” Veins in his neck glow a faint yellow as light seeps under the gauntlet. He exhales—almost amused. “Guess their arrows really are poisoned,” he jokes, looking at the glow in his neck. “Thank the Lord this trick clears poison, too.” He remains still, maintaining pressure till the light fades from his arm and neck as he mutters to himself, just loud enough for you to hear. “Let's see, I can cast second-circle spells, which means I have at least five uses. One to heal my arm this morning, one to cleanse his system, and another to heal his hand, one for this wound, and another for the poison.”He may be looking away from you, but you can feel the weight of his sigh.

“Does that mean he’s out of healing?” you wonder, a bit confused why he didn't include the six from the temple. Your thoughts stop, and your hair stands on end as he finally stands and turns to you.

“Shame I didn’t have any help—that archer might’ve been a little too dead to shoot me. But hey, water under the bridge,” he says, striding to you. Even with his helmet covering his eyes, you can feel the scowl beneath. “You hurt?” he asks, words tough but without malice.

“No. I’m fine,” you say, head hanging low.

“Good,” he says as if relieved.

*SMACK*

The slap comes before you realize what’s happening. Suddenly, you're falling into the stone walls, barely catching yourself. Your face stings, and your cheeks arch as a metal hand grabs your collar. He pulls you up with a yank, your feet barely touching the ground as he holds you so close your nose scrapes the metal of his helmet.

“Why didn't you attack!” he demands, in a whisper that holds more rage than a shout. “I gave you one job: attack anything that got behind me, and you didn’t.”

“How was I supposed to? It’s too dark—” You begin, throwing out a desperate defence.

“Bullshit!” he cuts in, droplets of spit spraying on your face. “If I can see enough to fight, so can you. You didn’t fight because you didn’t want to. So hear me, one last time.” He releases your collar, half-shoving you backwards. You nearly trip on the goblin corpse behind, only catching yourself on the stone wall. “These things are not people. They don’t love. They will kill you, me, and everyone else ff we don’t kill them. So here’s the plan: you stand up, pick up your sword, and we finish sweeping this cave. We kill every goblin in here, save the girl, and walk out alive. Understand?” His words conceal an unspoken anger within them. You've seen him mad before, but this is something new. Something a mere adrenaline rush couldn’t explain.

“He’s never spoken to me like this.”

“Do you understand?” he says again, in the loudest whisper you’ve ever heard.

“Y‑yes,” is all you can manage.

“Good,” he says, handing you the torch. You take it, and the flame seems to dance on the edge. It takes you a moment to realize it isn't the flame that’s moving; your hand is just trembling.

“Let’s move,” he orders, picking up the remains of his shield. He turns into the dark, sword in hand, and you fall in behind, firelight shivering across stone.