It was a nice day in Duskwood, and he'd made a great deal of progress surveying potential archaeological dig sites until he took one wrong turn in the forest and stumbled across a sight that would make a Kaldorei child--and a fully grown human man--want to turn tail and run in the opposite direction.
Within a sunlit clearing between portions of forest, a satyr stood, unmoving except for its outstretched arms which hovered menacingly over a nest of large, bespeckled eggs. A glow arose from the satyr, extending in a coil of malevolent energy down to the eggs. And although he could not ascertain the specific ritual being performed, Charles had no doubt as to the pernicious nature of it. Whatever the satyr's intentions, they couldn't be good.
Nothing
that came from a satyr could be good.
Crouching down between thick trees and bushy shrubs, he surveyed this gangly terror.
The creature was exceptionally tall, with red skin and shaggy patches of brown fur that grew sporadically along its muscular body without any apparent rhyme or reason. Oddly sized limbs jutted out from its core, making it look grotesquely disproportionate, and it would have appeared perhaps even silly if not for the undeniable aura of evilness about it. Its hands, shaped like two huge anchors, appeared twice as large as one would think appropriate for its frame, with wicked claws for fingers. A crown of gnarled horns adorned its tiny head, and instead of normal humanoid feet it sported iron-like hooves.
Half-humanoid, half-beast, misshapen and altogether disturbing, the satyr looked like the early experiment of a clumsy god that had not yet learned the proper manner in which to shape Life. Having failed, this god left the satyr discarded, unfinished, and abandoned to its own sinful devices.
Charles did not like confrontation. He did not like fighting. He did not like blood or guts or glory. But even so he could not allow some kind of demonic befoulment to be inflicted upon these eggs, for he gleaned from their size alone that they were important. What specifically they were he was not sure, but they were large, very large, and he had a hunch as to what they could be.
This should have been a simple, pleasant excursion into the woods in search of lost remnants of prior civilizations. Now he had to deal with this
thing.
Sighing, he stood up and stepped forward out of his hiding place. The satyr did not notice him immediately due to being so engrossed in its incantation, but when it did notice him it whirled with a surprised snarl, annoyed, perhaps a little frightened even. However when it realized the interruption was borne by a lone human it relaxed, evidently unimpressed by Charles' plain dirty clothes, frayed backpack and the shortsword at his hip. He would be the first to admit that he did not look particularly imposing, but sometimes looks really could be deceiving.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to leave, would you?" he asked.
The creature eyed him warily, tail flicking behind it. It glanced briefly up at the sky then, searching for something, before looking back at him and snarling.
"Didn't think so."
Given the magic it had been using against the eggs, Charles figured the satyr would be predisposed towards a ranged fighting style, employing whatever shadowy magic it knew. Shadow bolts, curses, the works. Instead, it charged him.
Surprised by both its speed and its decision to engage in melee combat, Charles flung himself out of the way and grabbed at his sword, yanking it from its scabbard and whirling just as the creature attempted to flay him with its claws. He parried this strike, then another and another, the sound of sword upon those demonic claws just the same as the sound of blade against blade. He was at a disadvantage though. The creature had greater reach and was growing more agitated by the second, its unholy fervor driving it on, pressing forward and backing him into the tree line.
Suddenly, he tripped. Whether the perpetrator of his fall had been a rock or a root he didn't know, but he hit the ground regardless, grunting and nearly losing the hold he had on his sword. Unfortunately, he would likely be sore later on. Fortunately, however, the satyr went down with him, thinking it an opportune time to rip him to shreds. This proved to be a disastrous miscalculation. In its tiny satyr mind, it had not taken into account its utter inability to dodge a direct strike to the chest whilst mid-air.
"Damn it," he grunted, heaving the corpse off him and crawling out from beneath it. He was pretty sure he'd heard something in his pack break.
Charles climbed to his feet and shook himself off. A final strike to the spine made certain that the satyr was dead. Afterwards, he drifted over to the eggs and observed them, standing back a ways as if more satyrs might suddenly burst forth from them. He was not magically inclined, but perhaps someone at the village...
"That was an impressive performance," a voice from behind him said. "A tad unusual though."
Startled, he turned to find a woman standing in the clearing. Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her, and her hair was as green as her eyes. She was an elf, or rather, she appeared to be an elf.
"Sarcasm?"
"No," she said with a smile. "I watched from above. You were not as pressed as you let on."
"And you figured it would be impolite to butt in, I guess."
She tilted her head as if confused. "You did not need help."
Couldn't argue with that.
"I suppose you're right," he replied, rubbing at a grass skid on his pants. "So, these eggs..."
"Yes. They will have to be inspected for traces of corruption, but I believe they're fine, thanks to you. A few more seconds of being exposed to the satyr's magic however, and things may have been different. It does not take much to corrupt the little ones, I'm afraid."
Admittedly, her smile flustered him a bit. The form she took--for he presumed her to be a dragon in reality--was exceptionally beautiful. "Oh. Well. I was just in the area, and the eggs, I mean you have to protect the children. And him--" he gestured towards the satyr's corpse. "--he wasn't so bad. To fight I mean..."
