The Hobgoblin Captain raged at me "You thinkin' you know better'n me runt? Think maybe you should do the leadin' and I should do the followin'? nobody betrays Black Flag Clan! "

Betray him? Now? Ridiculous! It would be days before that happened! That was planned for after the attack on the nearby group of Kobolds had exhausted him, not now. Maybe if I explained that to him? But it was being reasonable that got me into this mess.

Even as an acolyte I'd grown to understand basic tactics and knew that Hobgoblins were excellent at analyzing individual fighters but poor at group fighting. He'd decided those lightly armored bowmen and a priest with a staff couldn't pose a threat to axes and spears so I must have some ulterior motive.

That is what led to the very probable act of him grabbing his spear and the very improbable act of him impaling himself onto that very spear.

He'd charged me almost before I could get my sword readied. But I managed, just barely, to get it raised towards him enough to parry his initial strike and deliver a quick slash to his shoulder. That'd forced him to pull up short and he stabbed at me.

More than one villager has died to a Necromancer shocked to discover they know the basics of using a weapon. We're no King's Knights but when you start out knowing only how to cast two spells you can use maybe once a day before becoming exhausted with a fifty percent chance of not screwing it up and hated by every living thing. Well, you better have a backup plan in case the sight of a screaming peasant boy with a raised woodcutter's ax causes your control to falter when reaching into his mana to cause his blood to boil or his legs to turn to jello.

Which is to say mage or no I had enough skill my shield should have blocked his attacks, should have. Except it was resting on the ground several meters away and so I instead began to develop a greater problem with leaking than troubled the conjoined triplets of Orgas after a vigorous bout of lovemaking with the great God of War Sorde.

I had a head for analysis however and I knew that If I timed my rush to it just as he pulled back and ran at maximum speed I would make it all the way to within ten inches of the shield before his stronger legs carried him close enough to begin a strike, then I would have just enough time to reach the shield itself before the strike finished and the tip of his spear exited my rib cage. Actually, that would not do.

I re-analyzed the situation. He had a longer reach and his two-handed stabs were more powerful than my single handed attacks, combined with his greater strength I was at a severe disadvantage. But I did have a few edges. I could attack with both cuts and stabs where he could only stab and I could easily deliver multiple strikes if I got in past his spear tip before he could recover. So outwit a stupid hobgoblin. Seems easy enough.

The hobs face became feral as his heart rate raised, forcing his mana to flow through him at an increasing rate. His strikes lashed out at a furious pace and his natural instincts for one on one combat let him know exactly where to strike. Occasionally the blood flowing from my wounds would stream together in mid-air and coagulate, hardening into an impromptu shield to block a particularly lethal strike, but it cost too much to do it every time.

His increased ability to act and predict the best move was pushing me back into a line of my undead and a neophyte behind me. Something I'd have normally consider a boon. But I'd been trying to command the skeletons to aid me the last several seconds and my attempts to send blood and mana flowing into them was repeatedly knocked off course. The neophyte no doubt, he'd chosen a side and it wasn't mine. I could overcome it but it'd take more concentration than I could currently muster while avoiding impalement. It was at that moment the neophyte decided to remove all doubt of his being promoted.

He shoved me forward no doubt expecting an impaling jab to end me and make him Acolyte. But while I'd not been in a Hobgoblin raiding party long enough to know what happened if you tried to reason with the Commander. I'd been in an undead one long enough to expect his treachery and used it to aid my legs in a sudden rush forward. I barreled past the Commanders still readying weapon and crashed into his chest. My sword hacked into his side and I began sawing it back and forth on his armor.

I expected to be pushed back but instead, he threw forward his now useless weapon and wound back his fist. Admittedly it was a rather large fist but hey I had a Sword!

I could see the blood and more importantly mana begin to leak out of him as I went to work, at least until my eyes watered and my own blood splattered across my face blocking my view. His punch landed hard but I could take it. His next punch landed even harder but I focused on opening up the wound with a sawing action, cutting until I felt bone. His third punch landed and I dropped the sword in a daze. Apparently, he could win a sword fight with his fists.

My own fighting instincts kicked in then and I started to step back while at the same time trying to turn around and run. One or the other dammit! stupid instincts. My feet tripped over another in their attempt to comply with both requests at the same time and I began to stumble.

I dodged the haymaker aimed at my head with a flailing twist backward and fell to the ground impacting hard on my chest. I landed purely by chance with my hand falling onto the shaft of his discarded spear. I clutched it and turned futilely readying the tip to parry in front of me. It seemed largely pointless by now, it had taken me several moments to re-learn how breathing worked again after that impact and I'd only just stopped suffocating. No doubt my lost sword had been picked up and was already in his hands stabbing towards me. I'd be too late. I totally would have been too except only one of us had realized I was once again armed.

His leaping lunge to get on top of me and pummel me with his fists drove the broad tip through his neck, nearly decapitating him.