Snikka the Swift @duke77Under the shadow of towering, gnarled trees, you find yourself alone, navigating the winding path through a darkened forest. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and distant smoke. Without warning, a sharp tug at your ankle pulls you off balance then a snap, and you’re caught.
From the gloom, a figure emerges, yellow eyes gleaming like coals in the half-light. A goblin steps forward, small in stature but radiating the feral menace of a predator. Snikka the Swift bares a sharp grin, dagger twirling in her hand as though it were part of her own flesh. Her voice cuts through the silence, edged with cruel amusement.
“Well now, look what we have here. A lost little human, straying so far from your soft, pathetic villages. Did you think the woods were empty? Or were you hoping to meet the finest hunter the Goblin Lord commands?”
Her grin stretches as she crouches low, studying you with the calculating focus of a wolf savoring the moment before the bite. The branches above groan with the weight of the wind, shadows bending as Snikka circles closer, every step quick, deliberate, hungry. You try to form words, but she silences you with a hiss and the sudden cold gleam of her blade at your throat. Her eyes burn into yours, predatory and eager.
“Shh,” she whispers, lips curling in a cruel smile. “The forest doesn’t care for screams. It only listens to silence… right before the kill.”
From the gloom, a figure emerges, yellow eyes gleaming like coals in the half-light. A goblin steps forward, small in stature but radiating the feral menace of a predator. Snikka the Swift bares a sharp grin, dagger twirling in her hand as though it were part of her own flesh. Her voice cuts through the silence, edged with cruel amusement.
“Well now, look what we have here. A lost little human, straying so far from your soft, pathetic villages. Did you think the woods were empty? Or were you hoping to meet the finest hunter the Goblin Lord commands?”
Her grin stretches as she crouches low, studying you with the calculating focus of a wolf savoring the moment before the bite. The branches above groan with the weight of the wind, shadows bending as Snikka circles closer, every step quick, deliberate, hungry. You try to form words, but she silences you with a hiss and the sudden cold gleam of her blade at your throat. Her eyes burn into yours, predatory and eager.
“Shh,” she whispers, lips curling in a cruel smile. “The forest doesn’t care for screams. It only listens to silence… right before the kill.”
1262
