Emyth and Eldeth Adventures Vol. 1 Goblin hunt at Firth.

The damp air clings to Emyth’s robes as he steps past the moss-eaten archway, the stone groaning under his boots. A single torch flickers in a rusted sconce ahead, its light barely pushing back the darkness that pools in the corners like ink. He lets the flame in his palm gutter out, trusting his eyes to adjust rather than announce their ...

The damp air clings to Emyth’s robes as he steps past the moss-eaten archway, the stone groaning under his boots. A single torch flickers in a rusted sconce ahead, its light barely pushing back the darkness that pools in the corners like ink. He lets the flame in his palm gutter out, trusting his eyes to adjust rather than announce their arrival with a beacon. “Smells like they’ve been cooking something foul,” Eldeth mutters beside him, her axe resting on her shoulder. She wrinkles her nose, the firelight catching the copper glint of her hair. “Goblins never learn to season their meat.” Emyth grins, though his gaze sweeps the corridor with practiced precision. “Maybe they’re saving the spices for us.” A low growl answers from the shadows ahead, followed by the scrape of metal on stone. Emyth holds up a hand, and Eldeth stills beside him, her breathing slow and measured. The sound comes again—closer now, a dragging footstep and the rattle of crude armor. He reaches into the folds of his robe, fingers brushing the worn leather of his spell component pouch. The air hums with latent energy, waiting for his will to shape it. Beside him, Eldeth shifts her weight, the muscles in her thick arms coiling as she adjusts her grip on the axe. The goblin emerges from the darkness—a scrawny creature with yellowed eyes and a rusted blade clutched in its bony hand. It freezes when it spots them, its mouth opening in a startled shriek that never leaves its throat. Emyth’s hand snaps forward, a single word of power cracking the silence. A bolt of searing light lances from his palm, striking the goblin square in the chest. The creature crumples without a sound, the stench of burnt hair and ozone filling the narrow passage. Eldeth lets out a low whistle. “Show-off.” Emyth’s fingers still crackle with residual energy as he steps over the smoldering corpse. “I prefer efficient.” From deeper within the dungeon, a chorus of angry chattering rises, and the clatter of many feet begins to echo through the stone halls.

Eldeth’s eyes widen for a moment before a grin splits her freckled face. She hefts her axe, the blade catching the dim torchlight as she shifts it to a more aggressive angle. “You’re on, spell-slinger,” she says, her voice low but carrying a edge of genuine excitement. “But don’t come crying when you’re buying me a second round with that...

Eldeth’s eyes widen for a moment before a grin splits her freckled face. She hefts her axe, the blade catching the dim torchlight as she shifts it to a more aggressive angle. “You’re on, spell-slinger,” she says, her voice low but carrying a edge of genuine excitement. “But don’t come crying when you’re buying me a second round with that empty coin purse of yours.” The chattering grows louder, closer. Emyth counts at least three distinct voices, maybe four, their crude language bouncing off the stone walls in a discordant rhythm. The corridor ahead opens into a wider chamber, and he can make out the flicker of a fire—their cooking fire, by the smell of it. He rolls his shoulders, feeling the arcane energy thrumming just beneath his skin, eager to be unleashed. “Three silvers says I drop more than you before you even get close enough to swing that thing.” Eldeth snorts, adjusting her grip. “You’re on. But I’m counting the one you already fried, so you’re starting with a handicap.” She doesn’t wait for his retort. With a grunt of effort, she bursts forward, her boots pounding against the damp stone as she charges into the chamber beyond. The goblins’ chattering shifts into startled screams, followed by the wet thud of steel meeting flesh. Emyth follows at a jog, his fingers already tracing the first arcane pattern in the air. The firelight spills from the chamber ahead, casting long shadows that dance across the walls, and he catches a glimpse of Eldeth’s axe swinging in a wide, brutal arc, sending a goblin sprawling. He smiles, the words of a spell forming on his lips. The party, as he’d put it, was definitely starting.

The chamber erupts into chaos, but it's a chaos that Emyth knows intimately. Eldeth's axe cleaves through the air, and he's already moving before the blade completes its arc, stepping into the space she's just vacated. A goblin lunges at him from the left, crude spear aimed at his ribs, but he's not there—he's already sidestepping, his pa...

The chamber erupts into chaos, but it's a chaos that Emyth knows intimately. Eldeth's axe cleaves through the air, and he's already moving before the blade completes its arc, stepping into the space she's just vacated. A goblin lunges at him from the left, crude spear aimed at his ribs, but he's not there—he's already sidestepping, his palm flashing with searing light that catches the creature square in the chest. It crumples with a choked squeal. "One," he calls out, ducking under a wild swing from another goblin. "Catching up." Eldeth laughs, a sound that's half battle cry and half genuine delight. She spins, her axe tracing a glittering circle, and the haft catches a goblin in the jaw, sending it staggering back. She doesn't pause to finish it—she doesn't need to. Emyth's already there, a bolt of arcane energy punching through the creature's chest before it can recover its balance. "Two," he says, grinning. "Cheater," she grunts, but there's warmth in her voice. They move like water around stone. Eldeth charges forward, her axe a blur of steel and fury, and Emyth flows around her, covering the gaps, picking off the stragglers she leaves in her wake. A goblin tries to flank him, skittering along the wall, but he catches it with a flick of his wrist, a jet of flame catching its tunic. It shrieks, batting at the fire, and Eldeth's axe takes its head clean off as she passes. "Three," she says, breathless. "And I'm not even counting the crispy one." "You're adorable when you're competitive." She shoots him a look over her shoulder, blue eyes bright with battle-lust and something softer beneath. "Focus, sorcerer." The last goblin—a larger one, maybe a leader by the crude bone necklace it wears—charges at Eldeth from behind, a rusted sword raised high. She doesn't see it. But Emyth does. He doesn't think. He just moves, his hand outstretched, a word of power on his lips. A beam of pure sunlight erupts from his palm, blinding and searing, catching the goblin square in the chest. It stops mid-stride, the sword clattering from its grip as it looks down at the smoking hole in its torso. Then it crumples. Eldeth turns, sees the fallen goblin, and lets out a low whistle. "Show-off." "Just keeping my investment safe," he says, his voice a little rougher than he intended. She holds his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on her brow. The fire crackles in the center of the chamber, casting dancing shadows across her face. She looks at him like she's seeing him for the first time. Then she grins, hefting her axe onto her shoulder. "Four. I win." "You're counting the one I just saved you from?" "Absolutely." He shakes his head, but he's smiling. The chamber is quiet now, save for the crackling fire and their heavy breathing. The air smells of smoke, blood, and something else—something that lingers in the space between them.