As more of the monsters approached, it was clear that these were the mythical lizardfolk. They stood on two legs like humans but their three-fingered hands were tipped with long, razor-sharp claws. A long, dangerous tail, powerful jaws that were said to break bone, and long fangs that could rend flesh made them foes to be reckoned with. A few myths even mentioned the tails being tipped with poison.
Skharr wondered if he would discover the veracity of that. He had heard a few myths about the lizardfolk that lived in swamps, far from where humans were capable of living or even visiting safely, but he had never seen one himself, and he'd never met any person who had.
That changed now, he realized, but it wasn’t a particularly appealing thought.
Dozens of the creatures emerged from the mist. They still looked like they weren't too keen to attack, and a handful darted forward to pull the one he had killed back.
He drew another arrow and chose another target as they began to brandish their spears. Another monster was punched off its three-toed feet as the orcs fired a volley from their crossbows to cut them down in a heavy barrage.
Before Skharr or the orcs could prepare for another volley, the monsters scuttled in, gathered their dead, and vanished into the comparative safety of the heavy mist.
The barbarian scowled and raised an eyebrow as he waited for them to attack again, but the orcs began to take their formations in preparation to continue moving. A few turned to return to their village and a group readied themselves for more fighting.
"Where did the creatures go?" he asked. He decided not to complain about them taking his arrows but it was certainly something he wasn’t happy about. There were only a limited number of them available, after all, and he'd already lost enough of them in the forest.
One of the orcs heard him and made the now-familiar gestures.
"What's he saying?" he asked and nudged Brahgen’s shoulder.
The dwarf started as if he’d been lost in thought and now paid attention as the orc repeated what he'd said.
"The beasts are cowards," the youth translated. "They will not attack landing craft if they take losses. But…they become more…hungry when they attack farther ahead?"
The orc shook his head and repeated a few of the movements.
"Aggressive." The dwarf nodded and the orc grinned. "The farther into the island we go, they'll grow a few more balls."
That elicited a few of the grunted chuckles from the orc who motioned for them to join the group that would proceed to the dungeon. Skharr adjusted his grip on his bow, slung his sword over his shoulder, and hooked the ax to his belt before he collected the supplies they would carry with them.
Brahgen carried what he owned as well, although the dwarf didn't have much in the way of armor or weapons to weigh him down as they started out. The barbarian would have asked if the orcs had any weapons the boy could borrow, but there was no telling what kind they would have to spare and how much they would cost.
With things as they were, he didn't trust them to not suddenly decide they were expendable if he showed them the coin he carried on him. The purse was considerably lighter than it had been when they left, but there was still enough to tempt the greed of any creature.
The chieftain motioned for them to follow and they proceeded deeper into the island. There was no sign of the lizardfolk attacking as they followed the winding paths to where he assumed the dungeon was situated. He didn't know of any powerful wizards who might have spent time in the area, but he was learning the long, hard lesson that he didn't know everything there was to know under the sun.
As the day progressed, the mist showed no sign of lifting and the fact that none of the orcs seemed surprised by this was a little worrying. Still, he didn't want to ask them if it would remain. The fact that they couldn't see anything farther than fifty feet around them was certainly a new and concerning experience.
"The mist unsettles you too, doesn’t it?"
Skharr turned as Brahgen pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because it unsettles the fuck out of me. How in seven hells does a mist this heavy linger for so long?"
One of the orcs made a gesture, circled her head, and patted her chest twice.
"Magic," the barbarian muttered.
"You're catching on, then?"
"Perhaps. But that was fairly obvious, in all honesty. The hags who are said to inhabit this island doubtlessly keep the fog in place for the protection of the lizardfolk. It makes life a little more tolerable for them while making it difficult to see them when they have a mind to attack something."
The dwarf nodded and tightened his hold on his dagger as they continued along the winding paths that interestingly began a slow descent after a brief climb.
It wasn't long before Skharr could smell the rotten odor of a bog nearby. He should have known that the lizardfolk preferred to live in swamps based on the legends, but he had truly hoped it wasn't the case.
Fighting in a bog was a particular kind of nightmare he’d hoped he would never have to endure again.
Unfortunately, he was doomed to disappointment. His feet soon sank a little deeper into the mire with every step. Horse would have hated the swamps as well. Most horses hated them. Hooves sinking into the ground was not a pleasant experience for the beasts and worst of all, there was always the chance that they would get caught in a sinkhole with little chance of being dragged to safety without considerable effort.
He looked up as the orcs began to grunt and growl something in their tongue. None of them took the time to signal to the two newcomers what was amiss. Still, Skharr could determine what they were saying at least from context and from the way the formerly still water had begun to move around them.
"Stay away from the water," he warned his companion.
Brahgen did as he was told and remained close to where the orc warriors were for the moment. The barbarian drew a handful of arrows from his quiver and looked around for any sign that the creatures were approaching them.
This time, the orcs were the first to loose a volley of crossbow bolts into the swamp when they saw something move. They knew the swamp better, of course, but he wondered how they'd seen the movement in the water before him.
When one of the creatures reared its head to lunge at the group with its spear in hand and claws and fangs bared, Skharr loosed his first arrow and caught the beast in the side of the neck.
It punched straight through and pierced the chest of one of the monsters behind it.
The shot was impressive, he had to admit, even if he didn't fully intend it to be so. He hastily brought another arrow to nock, drew without pause, and loosed it as almost a dozen of the creatures emerged from the swamp water to attack the orcs.
Another was felled quickly, followed by a handful of others as the crossbows twanged loudly to drive the heavy bolts through the lizardfolks' thick skin almost effortlessly.
In moments, however, the enemy had pushed their assault. One of their tails whipped around to catch him on the leg and he landed hard on his back as one of the beasts rushed from the water, a little too anxious to kill him.
“You godsbedammed hell-spawned scaly slime-sucker!” He raised his bow to push it back a step before he thrust one of his loose arrows into its eye.
It fell away but was quickly replaced by another. He’d yanked the arrow free and now nocked it to the bow and loosed it as rapidly as he could. It burrowed into the monster's chest and drew blood but the wound wasn’t deep enough to kill as it hadn't been pulled back far enough to bring the full power of the bow to bear.