After a long discussion with further prodding on my part, this is what I could infer about the bandit and the place where they are currently holed in. Their base of operation seems to be a cave on the rock face side with an erected palisade around the entrance for added security measures. Two small guard towers on either side to further function as a lookout. Two or three scaly wargs and the number of bandits seemed to be around anywhere between fifteen to twenty in number. From listening to the goblins, it was unclear as to how many prisoners were held inside and if they are kept in cages, or just bound and thrown around.

Finding a tree trunk large enough along with a soft ground below, I lowered myself to sit down with my back resting on the tree trunk. I extended both my leg, raised my knees upwards and clasped my palms together while resting both my hands on my raised knees. The familiar position. I have assumed this position countless times. During every campaign when I lead my armies, after every briefing and during the battle plan. This was the ruminating position I took to think things through. Except for those times, I had vast armies at my command, I was their general and not a pauper planning a heist for basic essentials.

A part of me wanted to abandon this reckless attempt. Yet when I raised my head, I saw the three goblins looking at me with the same anxious combined reverence that I had once received from my troops. This was one of my most vulnerable position. I have always taken extreme measures not to let anyone, neither the officers under my command nor my household staff, see me when I contemplate an upcoming battle. Except there was she. She knew how to read my aura, comfort me when needed, and hold me when I felt exhausted. The way she knelt and held me close to her chest, gently stroking my cheek while hushing, is still vividly engraved in my mind.

A small chirp from some forest bird broke me out of my reverie and served as a reminder of the task at hand. Even though I have led drow troops, I was never the general, more of a tactician. So time to drape the tactician mantle again. So I am outnumbered, and the enemy is well holed up in a defensible position. The man named Aram and the female archer would have by now warned the others, and so no element of surprise for us. The wargs would probably smell us, so sneaking is not an option. Spreading air-borne poison will probably not work, at least not without hurting the prisoners. So that strategy is also out. Plus, I do not have any viable source to spread the poison. With certainty, I am overlooking some crucial detail here. So I went back to the mental exercise of patching the scenario.

So if they had wargs and a stealthy approach is impossible, how did the goblins manage to steal from them? Did one of them not have a hallucinogen mushroom before? How did I overlook this?

Focusing my attention on Taltil and managed to get my voice as gentle as possible, “You have been inside, haven’t you?”.

Taltil looked to the ground. The gait suggested that Taltil is extremely hesitant to answer. I slowly raised my hand to pat Taltil on the head. The little one has been through a lot, so I can understand if the little one does not want to talk. Frankly after being tortured most people would like to avoid places associated with their torturers. That one needs to be assured to talk. Short before patting the head of Taltil, I quickly withdrew my hand. The spittle on the wound still gleamed. Seems that the goblins way of disinfecting a wound. Instead, I decided to cup Taltil’s face in my hands and looked deep into Taltil’s eyes.

“I asked you a question?”.

“Small hole side, too small for Dark Mistress. Goblins can enter. But now closed. They will catch if I go, or maybe?”

“How strong is it closed? Is it closed with rocks or with wooden planks, or just covered with some crates?”

“Not with rocks, some wood and wooded barrels before the entrance. Can still see and hear a little of the other side”

So this might work. Not a single stratagem, but a combination of a few well-established strategies that I have formulated before. Use the psychedelic Hallucinogen to dull their senses and then pick them off.

Now I addressed the other two, “Show me the poison, the mushroom poison from before?”

After examining the mushrooms, “Can you collect more of these mushrooms? ”

“Yes Mistress, they are a bit further, but I can run and bring more”.

“Wait never mind, take me there.”

“Dark Mistress, please rest. Goblins work for mistress now. Will bring lots of mushrooms, poisons, all that Dark Mistress wants.”

So my intention is wrongly interpreted. I sighed and then proceeded to explain myself, “Any other mushrooms or herbs with the same effect as this one? Nearby?”

The goblins looked a bit perplexed. In hindsight, the question was not well-formed.

“Collect any sleep, dream mushrooms or similar herbs or flowers and any poison stuff that you can find here.”

*****

After a while, I gazed at the sky and realised that the moon is yet to rise, but the stars appeared in the sky. I have to agree, that for a deep dweller like me, this has its own charm. But those appreciations can wait for another time. The goblins presented me with their collection of a few mushrooms and some herbs. I quickly sorted through them and only selected those which can either create hallucinations or drowsiness. I took the liberty of relieving the goblins of their worldly possessions, namely their rags, which they gladly offered to me.

With a few simple twists and knots, the final product I was hoping was ready. My main weapon. I had the bundled up mixture of carefully sorted herbs, mushrooms and flowers in my hand. And explained to my new ragtag group how to slowly burn them and how to fane out the resulting smoke in the right direction. The remaining pieces of rags were used as makeshift protective masks for the goblins. Finally relieved with my actions, I set the goblins to the mentioned side hole with explicit instructions to burn and send the smoke through the opening into the tunnel. They quickly disappeared into the thorny brambles and bushes. Seeing them leave, I quickly made my way to the entrance of the palisade.

There were two crude watch tower structures with sentries on top. Not just normal lookouts, but sentries with crossbows. But their eyes were close to the palisade front entrance and along the path before them. The palisade wall was not too tall, and the wood offered a better grip. So scaling the wall was not a problem. The top of the wall edge was made jagged and made tiptoeing as well as balancing a difficult manoeuvre. The direction of wind flow changed, and I know this was the proper time to move without alerting the wargs down below. Ignoring the pain in my feet, I closed the gap between myself and the sentry. My original plan was to catch the sentry off guard and strangle him with my vine whip, but seeing his loosely hanging shortsword, an improvisation of the original plan was in order. The sentry’s eyes flicked as I dashed next to him. Little did he notice, the loosely hung shortsword on his waist had quickly switched to my hand. Nor did he know that his throat has been slit in the next moment.

The scent of blood from the dead sentry alerted the wargs, and it was followed by loud barking. Two wargs were chained while one roamed freely. I took the loaded crossbow. It felt a bit heavy. I loosened the bolt at the free-roaming warg which was moving in my direction. A whimpering sound escaped the warg before it rolled over. Sensing the plight of their companion, the other chained wargs become more agitated and started howling. The commotion in the inner courtyard of the palisade confused the other sentry and before I could react, he rang the bell.

I loaded the crossbow and the other sentry went down while ringing the bell. I counted eight bolts from the now-dead sentry. The commotion could be heard from the inside of the cave. The first responders would arrive soon. The man who came out of the cave held his shield high, which did nothing to help him, as the bolt pierced his thigh.

In the next few moments, a few more bandits appeared from the cave. Their movement, rendered sluggish due to the hallucinogens that they have been breathing, provided me with enough time to reload the crossbow and aim at their vitals. Once all the bolts were exhausted, I made my way down. After examining the dead or dying bandits, seeking some sort of comfortable melee weapon, I settled on a cutlass of one of the dead bandits. I put the remaining chained warg out of its misery and strode towards the entrance of the cave.

There was little in the form of resistance inside the cave. Most of the bandits encountered were not a match. After all, not much resistance can be expected from half-drunk and hallucinated warriors. Some of them, I killed in their sleep. No remorse there. I was fighting a superior number with a measly ragtag group.

A few people were seen huddling inside cells. Obviously slaves. Furthermore, I encountered a few more inside three cages. Freeing them comes next, but the first priority is to make sure that no threat survives. I rushed further until I ran into Aram again. He was undoubtedly expecting me, as he was fully prepared with armour and a massive Warhammer.

The Warhammer drew my attention. The handle was etched with elegant runes. I would remember this make of Warhammer, anywhere I see, but the etched runes are definitive proof. It was made by her.

Watching her work the forge was a guilty pleasure of mine. The way her arms bulged while she worked the anvil, the slight purple hue in her skin attenuated by the forge fire, her smirk and knowing smile that passed when her eyes occasionally passed my direction. And on moments when she decided that it was too hot in the forge, she would just wrap her chest and work the forge without a shirt. It was always a delight to my eyes, catching her muscular torso and the sinews in her abdomen appearing and disappearing with every stroke. Sometimes she would drop whatever she was working on and stride up to if she noticed my presence. She would gently stroke my cheek and push the hair falling before my temples while I would fake admonishing her to clean herself before. She would then put the most stupid grin on her face. A grin which challenges: make me do it. At this point, I would usually lean closer to....

A sudden jolting sensation... no... a pain passed through the back of my head. As I fell, a scaly humanoid form traversed before my view, and I could hear a vague hissing tongue. Maybe one of the lizardfolk or Saurian? They would have high poison immunity.

As my consciousness started to fade away. Two things were echoing in my mind.

One. The runes etched on the Warhammer have a pattern that can be interpreted to know when the Weapon was made. The Warhammer and etched rune mean that she is still alive.

Second. I miscalculated and jumped, without knowing my enemy well.

Knowing that she is still alive and without meeting her again, I do not want to end like this. I need to live. Survive. See her. and I lost my consciousness.