Zalrodal positioned himself between his two stenjin guards, their bodies towering even above his tall frame. He beckoned Migaal to him, the ferret immediately turned into a long black blade in his hands and he brandished it against his guards. Training with a new weapon was important after all, and no matter how sharp his new blade was it probably couldn’t cut through stone, or at least not as readily as it would through a goblin. While abusing his goblin servants seemed to be part of the plan, at least according to Guglak, the thought of cutting his own warriors in half seemed to be just slightly excessive. Zalrodal raised the blade vertically across his face, gave a small nod and readied himself. He could hear Migaal’s voice inside of his head giving advice although the presentation demon was concerned more with how one looked while fighting and not necessarily their effectiveness. Regardless, the two stenjin moved in circles around him, each wielded a rod of pure stone they had grown out of their own bodies and held them like clubs.

Blackrock the war-form swung against the Dark Lord first, an onyx club racing towards his master’s figure. Zalrodal weaved underneath the blow and counterattacked, the demonic blade whistling as it cut through the air while stretching far enough to reach the construct. The blade crashed against the stone leaving a white scar on its black surface. The blade reverted back to its original size as Zalrodal spun out of the way of the second stenjin’s attack. The swordsman danced away from another strike and quickly closed the distance again with his new blade. He struck out at the stenjin guard and folded his body as Blackrock’s mace came flying towards him. One stenjin hit another with its weapon and the construct tumbled backwards from the impact, cracking the stone tiles underneath its heavy feet. Zalrodal continued training in this way, exchanging blows with his stone warriors while dodging their attacks as they came.

Zalrodal continued practising with his new weapon, while Migaal tried his hardest to advise on how to look more elegant while fighting, asking for useless spins and flourishes as the stone maces crashed around them. The Dark Lord was getting used to his new weapon, the changing size and light blade made for a deadly instrument but one he would have to get used to. He had heard of too many people going into battle with new weapons and skills without having tested them before. While stories recount these actions as heroic it would have to be said that most heroes attempting such actions were buried beneath the ground or in some creatures belly, bards were not known for recounting the tales of warriors being digested by gruesome creatures. While Migaal was happy with the improvements his master had made with the blade, he was of the opinion that a Dark Lord needed some equally imposing armour. The issue of course was that the only smith in town greatest achievement seemed to be the odd horseshoe or two. However, there had been news from new arrivals in the dungeon that a group of trolls had been spotted at the edge of the Dusrian Marshes. The Marshes were located in the north of the Dusrian Grand Duchy, east of Lord’s Rest. It was not a long journey especially considering the reward, but the marshes are known to be dangerous so much so that all major attempts to tame it had failed. Zalrodal did not plan to do any taming, at least for now. Instead, he planned to go there grabbed the trolls and bring them back to Lord’s Rest so that they may equip his army in something better than oversized plate.

The preparations for the journey were set up quickly and Zalrodal’s usual escort came with him. The stenjin war-forms, thirty-odd goblins including Rigrig who seemed eager to find something new to stab and some of the horses they had captured carrying supplies on their backs. The marshes were not far away from Lord’s Rest, but he left Guglak in charge of everything till he returned. As the group started their journey they could hear the screams of some of the goblins as Guglak “encouraged” them to work harder. The old goblin was famous for his encouraging methods, which to be fair were quite effective at the moment. Goblins simply needed some extra encouragement sometimes.

The Dusrian Marshes were a desolate place, filled with water and deep muddy passes which threatened to devour all that dared step foot on them. Dragonflies and other insects hovered around them throughout the entire journey. If it wasn’t for the goblins surprising sense of direction, it is likely they would have gotten lost in the marshes. There were no landmarks that could help discern their position, and a heavy fog covered the air and made it hard to make out the sun up above. The group trudged through the mud, some of the goblins nearly being enveloped from head to toe and attaching themselves to the Stenjin to be carried out of the most dangerous parts. By the time they had reached a resting spot in which the earth wasn’t threatening to just crumble beneath their feet most of the goblins were covered in mud and their master seemed equally afflicted as he was covered nearly up to the waist aswell. The outfit designed by Migaal completely ruined by the environment. The only person seemingly unaffected by the grime and dirt was Migaal himself, who had been sitting on top of Zalrodal’s shoulder’s the entire journey. Some of the goblins started a small fire with the supplies they had brought with them and got ready to warm themselves up if even a little before continuing the journey. Once the fire was ready and food was distributed among the goblins as if on cue a loud screeching was heard in the distance.

Immediately the goblins sprung up and readied themselves for battle drawing their weapons, crooked and chipped blades and spears. Old arrows were put on the strings of older bows and aimed at the source of the noise. Rigrig drew two daggers and started happily tapping his feet. The two war-forms positioned themselves in front of the goblins, and Zalrodal prepared to shield them from the initial assault. Zalrodal stood behind them, the ferret on his shoulder already turned into a black blade. They were tired and covered in mud but something about fighting made goblins especially happy. Zalrodal waited, his heart beating in anticipation, a roar so loud could not have come from some small critter found in the woods of Eberon. It didn’t take long for the creature to appear out of the fog. First, its silhouette was a black mass amidst the grey fog, the creature was taller even than the stenjin and wider than even both of them placed next to each other. The creature roared again and Zalrodal could feel its breath rushing through his hair.

Out of the fog and amidst a spray of brown water and mud the creature emerged barrelling towards the small island in the middle of the marsh. It bared the row of sharp teeth and roared one last time before reaching the stenjin. The creature had the head of a bear and the body of a wolf only that its size dwarf both of the animals. Migaal spoke inside of his master’s head. “I believe that creature is a ursapus, I was unaware that they lived in this region,” the ferret’s voice said, more curious than worried about the impending attack, “it is a wild animal, although a particularly large one. I am sure you can defeat it,” Migaal cheered before leaving a silent vacuum inside Zalrodal’s mind.

The ursapus swung one of its fangs at Blackrock, the stenjin raised its arms to block the strike and was shoved to the side while holding onto the furry paw. A deep gash in the earth followed BlackRock's legs across the mud. The goblins took that opportunity to attack, they launch arrows and spears at the bear’s head which seemed to do nothing more than infuriate the creature. The second stenjin grabbed onto the ursapus’ other paw and attempted to hold the creature down. The stenjin holding on to it were thrown to the side as it jumped back reading its hind legs to pounce on the assembled goblins. The wolf’s body leapt through the air and above the stenjin’s bodies. As the grey body flew above Zalrodal he swung the black blade upwards. The demonic blade grew large, much too large for a properly aimed strike but seeing as the target was so large it was impossible to miss. The black blade cut through the beast’s underbelly, the Ursapus sprung to the side upon landing, thick drops of blood falling from its stomach. The blade had not cut all the way otherwise its guts would be sure to feed the marsh insects for long to come. The ursapus studied them intently, it circled around them looking for the best point to strike.

Zalrodal had no intention of letting that happen. He commanded the stenjin to attack together with his goblins. Another barrage of spears and arrows hit the bear’s head distracting it long enough for the stenjin to arrive. They used their bodies like battering rams and crashed into the ursapus’ front legs shattering the bone inside as the entire weight of their stone bodies pressed against them. The creature howled in pain before falling to the ground unable to continue standing on only its back legs. Zalrodal rushed forward towards one of the stenjin, the stone construct extended both of its arms, one towards the ground and one towards the creature’s head. Zalrodal ran up the arm of the stenjin, jumped over the stone head and onto the next arm before finally leaping on top of the ursapus. The creature thrashed its head around trying to get rid of the invader but it was too late. Zalrodal had gotten a good hold of some of the ursapus’ fur and was not letting go. He raised the dark blade and swung it arching through the air above before cutting deep into the back of the bear’s head. The blade cut through about half the neck before halting to stop, but it had been enough. The eyes of the creature went dead and glassy and its entire body slumped to the ground, unmoving. The Dark Lord walked along the creature's face, stopping at its snout before jumping to the muddy ground. The goblins cheered victoriously.