As the call for action went up throughout the inn and across the village, Drizzak happily munched away at a leg of ham that had been so courteously purchased for him by the more familiar of his teammates. He did not know what he had done to deserve such kindness, nor did he think on it for too long. Food was food, and he was ravenous. He could have eaten the legs off a horse. Frankly that didn't sound too terrible at that moment in time. Might have even been funny.
With a satisfied burp and a grumble, Drizzak threw a bare, pockmarked bone to the table. His jagged teeth shone in the light as he smiled wide and pushed himself from the stool, landing on his clawed feet with a thump. He was outside in a flash, watching as the opposition was soundly defeated by his compatriots. Injuries occurred everywhere, on both sides, but the battle was turned in their favour as soon as the fool brigands chose to take up arms. With everyone occupied, Drizzak almost felt despair at the lack of quarry for him. His bloodlust would go unfulfilled. For a moment, he felt sad.
But only for a moment.
As he looked around, he felt a sharp, hot pain in his shoulder. It struck him with force enough for him to feel it WITHIN his body. It felt warm, and cold at the same time. The goblin stood still and silent as he looked at his shoulder. Sticking from it was the shaft of an arrow. Black as night and fletched with white, it stuck out of his shoulder and pierced straight through to the other side. Desperately, he looked around yo fins its source, and he found it. There in the distance, an archer atop the roof of the village's general store. He stood, unmolested and rejoicing in his successful shot.
Then the anger came. Like a great wave of red it washed over Drizzak's vision. He was angered to the point of a growl bubbling its way up from his gut. His fangs bared, he smiled slightly as he realised that he had found his quarry. The archer stared at him, as if daring him to make a move as he nocked another arrow and drew back threateningly.
Drizzak looked him right in the eyes and took hold of the arrow already in his shoulder, before snapping it off mid-shaft.
Then he leapt forward, breaking into a sprint toward the building as he drew for his whip. The archer loosed another arrow that skimmed Drizzak's face and took a chunk from his ear, but he was far too angry at this point to care. He pushed himself to run faster, and then jump. He flew for a moment, before colliding with the side of the building and digging his clawed fingers in between the stonework. He scrabbled quickly to the roof, growling still.
The archer stood alone as Drizzak pulled himself to the roof. He wasted no time in closing the distance, making sure he could get another shot off. The archer drew a short blade from a boot sheathe and brought it upward diagonally, scoring a red streak across Drizzak's face. Another mark of war, another trophy to be proud of. It bit deep enough to draw blood, but Drizzak was far too quick for the hit to slow him as he fell to the ground and slid between the thug's legs. He stood at the edge of the roof, just a step from the open air and right next to a crossbar structure, probably used to hang signs or banners. Drizzak already knew what to do.
In one fluid movement, he leapt off the roof and over the crossbar with a twist, drew his whip and thrust his arm out at the archer. As he turned, everything seemed to slow. The whip flew out, dancing wildly before coiling around the man's neck and tightening. The shards of steel and bone woven into the whip bit into the flesh of his neck as Drizzak began to fall. He toward the ground, but the tension of the whip around the archer's neck and over the crossbar flung him just beneath the overhang of the roof, and he planted his feet on the wall solidly. Then he pulled.
Archer fell from the roof onto his head with a sickening crunch. Drizzak also fell as the tension faded from the whip, but at least he only fell a few feet.
Drizzak stood and walked over to the fallen archer, now breathing weakly. The shards of his whip had done a number. His neck was red and he gurgled every couple of seconds as a fresh gout of blood seeped from some of the bigger gashes in his throat.
Drizzak sat on his chest and made it harder for him to breathe, turning his gurgling into gurgling, wheezing and soundless pleading. Drizzak was mad, but his face was like stone. Unamused, he stuck a claw into one of the gashes on the side of his neck and pressed in further.
"Why? Why you hurt Drizzak? That not nice."The man replied in panicked gurgles. He didn't moved his arms or legs. He couldn't. The fall had snapped his spine. Drizzak withdrew his finger with a sigh, displaying his claws for the man to see.
"Now Drizzak have to hurt you."He looked down at the man for a moment before he pounced, driving his clawed thumbs into the archer's eyes as deep as they would go. By the time he was finished, he arms were red up to the elbows and all that was left of the archer's head was a red jellied mess.
Drizzak looked back at the others, finished with their enemies long ago. All seemed safe and mostly healthy. That was a relief. All seemed impressive in combat as well, even artful, one could say.
But Drizzak still thought that he had painted the prettiest red flower.
