Eight Laughing Figures pt. 2

    One of the eight figures - a man bearing the silvery eyes of the kalashtar - shivers.

    'Damn these cold nights,' he says, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 'Even ale can't warm me up.' He looks at his feet. 'Can't feel my bloody toes,' he mutters.

    The biggest of the eight figures - a great, hulking minotaur with fur the colour of earth and a pair of obsidian horns - speaks. His voice is slow and deep - like water falling from a great height. 'More fire, Flicker.'

    'Yes, father,' a bronze-skinned man breathes, sparks flowing from his mouth. Glowing lines cover his body and as he raises his hand, flames spring from them. The snow around his feet flash into steam, and the large logs in the campfire burst into flames with renewed intensity.

    Son of Hawktooth looks at his family and grins.

Goblins

    Son of Hawktooth smashed his armored fist into the goblin's face, sending it sprawling back to the mud. Its fellows gibbered and screeched in their strange, high-pitched tongue, jumping on the spot and brandishing their shoddy array of crude maces, rusty knives and small, pointy sticks.
    One of the small, grey creatures raised a sturdy-looking stick and, as it uttered a word of power, a flash of lightning arched from its schorched tip to the ground scarcely a yard away from Son of Hawktooth's feet. That gave him some pause.
    'Go-leave now-now,' the spellcaster screeched. 'Dog-man flee-run quick-fast or we kill-stab!'

Son of Hawktooth

    Son of Hawktooth tracked his quarry through the darkening forest. His loping, wolf-like gait carried him swiftly across the soft layer of pine needles. He raised his muzzle and sniffed the air. The man was close.  He could smell the acrid stink of  fear on him. This was going to be easy.
    An arrow caught Son of Hawktooth high in the shoulder, eliciting a yelp of pain. Fifty yards away, his quarry was already nocking another arrow.
    Son of Hawktooth launched himself at him. Another arrow pierced his chest. He descended on the man like a whirlwind of steel, teeth and horns.