Adventure of Robby the Gobby 1

Mist drips from Robby the Gobby's cloak as he steps into the crossroads inn. Firelight wavers over rough beams, wet cloaks, and a room gone silent.

Semi stands in the center of the floor, dragonborn shoulders squared, a bloodied blade hanging at his side. At his feet lies a stranger, motionless, while the nearest patrons recoil toward the walls.

Fear spreads through the room in muttered fragments. Someone whispers about a beast on the moors. Another voice hushes it fast.

A broad-shouldered innkeep near the hearth clutches a ladle like a club, eyes darting between Robby and Semi. He looks ready to bolt or beg, whichever comes first.

Outside, wind presses hard against the shutters, and somewhere beyond the walls, something howls across the dark moor.

Robby turns his attention from the room to the innkeep, keeping his hands low and his voice even. The ladle stays up, but the man’s eyes flick toward Semi first, then back to Robby.

The innkeep does not lower the ladle, but his stance loosens a fraction. At the mention of food, a few patrons glance up from the walls, listening despite themselves.

Semi’s blade dips a little as he studies Robby, the guarded edge in his posture giving way to something more practical. Outside, the howl fades into the wind, and the innkeep’s words hang between them like a bargain waiting to be made.

Robby backs Semi with a small nod and lets the quiet of the room do some work for him. The innkeep’s grip on the ladle stays tight, but the patrons lean closer, waiting for someone to sound certain.

The innkeep lowers the ladle halfway, thinking it over. One patron near the wall raises a hand and points toward the shuttered windows, then toward the mud at the threshold, where fresh tracks smear under wet boots.

Semi shifts at once, attention sharpening on the hint. He gives Robby a brief, searching look, like the hunt has become a shared map instead of a private vow.

A low, wet growl vibrates through the floorboards, shaking the very foundation of the inn. The mud at the threshold begins to bubble as something massive shifts its weight just outside the wall.

Robby looses through the gap, and the arrow punches into the dark hide outside with a heavy thud.

The beast jerks back from the wall, and the floorboards stop their frantic shuddering for one precious breath.

A wet scrape follows, then a low, grudging snort from the moor, as if the thing has found the sting it was not expecting.

Robby catches the smell of smoke drifting from the hearth, and the creature outside shifts away from it at once.

The splintered opening in the wall gives onto a clearer track, and the beast’s retreat leaves a trail to follow.

The beast leaves behind a thick, viscous trail of black ichor that pulses with a faint, sickly luminescence against the frost of the moor.

The trail is unmistakable, leading straight into the dark heart of the northern woods, and the creature's labored, heavy breathing echoes back from the trees.

Robby follows the black trail out through the broken wall and onto the moor, boots sinking into frost-dark mud. The stink of the ichor hangs low, and Semi falls in beside him without a word.

The trail leads them straight to a shallow hollow in the heather, where the beast has torn itself down into the earth. The glowing sludge pools there, still warm, while the creature lies crumpled and snarling at the edge of the roots.

Semi plants his feet and raises his blade, but he does not strike yet. He glances once at Robby, waiting for the signal to close the hunt together.

The beast hauls itself half upright, clutching at the mud, and turns its head toward them. The hollow goes very still.

Robby steps in with the swing, but the mud steals his footing. His strike lands crooked, glancing the beast instead of driving it home.

Semi surges with him anyway, blade flashing through the hollow, but the beast twists under both pressures and stays upright, snarling in the muck.

The miss throws Robby off line, and Semi has to check his own follow-through before he hits Robby’s shoulder. The joint finish breaks apart in the same breath it begins.

The beast claws backward through the mud, forcing distance between them and the hollow’s center. The glowing ichor smears wider, and the trapped creature’s next lunge now points straight at their opening.

Semi does not step away. He sets his feet beside Robby again, tense and ready, while the beast hunches low and watches both hunters at once.

Robby shifts his aim and releases. The bolt snaps through the hollow and thuds into the beast’s hide, stopping its crouch cold.

The moor beast jerks sideways in the mud, then sags lower, its snarling head dipping as the glowing smear darkens around it.

Semi steps in on Robby’s flank, blade ready, but he does not need to rush. The creature’s movement is breaking apart under the shot.

The hollow goes tense and still around them, the trapped beast pinned by pain and mud, while Semi waits on Robby’s answer with his steel half-raised.

Robby and Semi strike together. The beast gives one hard lurch, then folds into the mud, its strength gone at last.

The hollow goes quiet except for wet breathing and the drip of glowing ichor. The hunt is over, but the air still feels sharp with the cost.

Semi lowers his blade and finally looks at Robby instead of the carcass. Mud streaks his grip where he held the line too long.

The beast lies still in the hollow, pinned by mud and steel. Robby’s shot has bought the kill, and Semi’s stance eases into shared purpose.

Then a distant shout carries over the moor, faint but human, and both hunters turn toward it.