[center][h2]Sanjin, Hunter[/h2]
[i] interacting with: Rowyn[@Kitty], Bobby and Flint [@Aerandir][/i][/center]

For the second time tonight, the tavern exploded into chaos. Men and women rushed hurried to strap on swords, re-tighten armor they had laxed to breath, or simply recover from the sheer alcoholic stupor they had put themselves into. Frankly, Sanjin was pretty sure the tavern only needed to be ‘mostly’ on fire before the image was pretty much perfect. The only real downside was the collective speed of said rowdy (now blood thirsty) group, either still fiddling with equipment or too slow to exit the front door with Bobby and Flint before a small crowd began to form at the mouth of the tavern. 

Staring at the small crowd tweaked at the young man’s nerves, a harsh snarl escaping his lips as he drew his club. The town needed help, a part of his mind was still aware of that, but that did not stop the sudden flare of frustration bursting in his chest. The prospect of killing wendigos had excited him, the rabid hunger roiling in his stomach held in check only by a small shred of pragmatism drilled into him by his elders. If the goblin’s were so keen on interrupting his first true hunt, then he was more than keen to work his urges out on them. 

He pushed past the crowd for a moment before spying his target, a clean window staring out onto the muddy strip of dirt and gravel that made up the roads in Saren’s Folly. He dropped to a dead sprint, flinging himself through the pane in a shower of glass and feverish growling that was steadily growing in volume. He landed on all fours, a mad scramble of limbs and club as he righted himself and chased after the receding figures of Flit and Bobby. It took him little time to catch up, one man being injured, the other long since crippled, and both occasionally stopping to deal with some minor green distraction. 

Bobby was the first to finally stop, screeching in a deep baritone in language that Sanjin could (at the moment atleast) normally reserved for the most obstinate of drunkards. Flint was just ahead, slamming his back against a wall and crushing a small nuisance to death under the sheer berth of his relative weight. And further beyond Flint, a flash of gold eyes that Sanjin only vaguely recognized as the doctor from earlier, knife in hand and several dead goblins at her feet, generously pepper with both arrows and stab wounds. He made a mental note to apologize to her later for not assuming she could fight, and compliment Flint’s shooting while he was at it. All that said, the sheer number of goblins was starting to get slow her down. 

Another goblin clambering from the shadows near Flint finally drew Sanjin back to the moment, his arms and as he burst into a lopping sprint, passing Bobby by in a flurry of almost barking laughter that was at odds with the goblish gibbering and screeches that filled the air. As the sneaking goblin readied his (her?) knife, they were greeted with the sight of a masked man practically barreling over Flint and bringing a vicious nail tipped club down over their skull. A small shudder of pleasure rolled up through the pack child as he sailed past the archer, the familiar sensation of his weapon striking true and sticking into his prey delighting his hunger. Sheer momentum from his mad dash and the strike carried him forward, the insane ball of hunter and goblin (hanging from the club like the worlds worst ornament) rolling forward a foot before finally stopping in a low crouch. 

With the high of a fresh kill now calming him slightly, he turned to Flint and spoke, his voice barely comprehensible amongst the din of combat and the orchestra of pleased beastial rumbling he was making. [color=30ced3]”Cover me. Helping doctor.”[/color] was probably the most accurate translation one could manage, but if Sanjin had any interest in seeing if Flint had understood him it wasn’t showing. 

He darted forward again, howling gleefully as he did and relishing the fact he heard more than a few similar howls echoing across the town. A few goblins who’d not yet closed the gap to Rowyn turned towards him, their eyes widening in what likely passed for fear in their dim little minds as they saw a masked man charging their way; wearing next to no armor and dragging a club decorated with the limp body of their former fellow. 

A brief millisecond of stunned silence fell over the troupe before their collective survival instinct began to scream at them in unison to kill it before it gets close, whatever IT was. Two of the goblins drew their bows and fired, but Sanjin made no attempt to dodge. At this distance, it was impractical and it was faster to just keep going. One arrow went low, slapping uselessly into the dirt. The other landed cleanly, burying itself into the pack child’s shoulder. 

Pain tried to assert itself in Sanjin’s mind, but was lost among the cacophony of feral need that currently swirled about his brain. He did not stop his tear towards the goblins, bearing down on them before the realization that he wasn’t hurt enough to stop had even begun to spark in their brains. 

Sanjin raised his club, a loud grinding noise of metal (or stone perhaps) and protesting muscle ringing in his ears as he brought it down on the nearest goblin, bringing the brunt of the swing and its dead companion down on its head with a sickening thunk of meat and bone. Their confidence shattered, the small cluster began to disperse, tiny bodies fleeing in whatever direction seemed to offer the quickest retreat from the mask human. Sanjin’s good arm fired out, catching on by a primitive belt of sorts and dragging it back towards himself, retching the club free from his two previous victims. The goblin had just enough time to turn and squeal an unintelligible plea before it was silenced with a dull wet thump. 

With the small troup scattered Sanjin took a moment to check on the Doctor, now flat on her back as the goblins ripped at her clothing. Small tents forming alongside vicious little smiles, filling the young hunter with an...unfamiliar sense of rage. He gripped the arrow shaft embedded in his shoulder and pulled, the arrow coming lose in a small gout of blood and an explosion of pain that only fuel him more as he darted to the dog pile. 

He crashed into the group in a low tackle, howling laughter erupting from him as his club found another soft body that squeak briefly before falling silent. A goblin to his left was the first to react to his presence, hastily stopping his attempts at removing his trousers and grabbing a short sword at his hip and stabbing down at the young man. Sanjin raised his club arm almost lazily in response, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he felt the blade cut through him, sliding between the bones of his forearm. He turned the stabbed arm, forcing the blade from the little monsters grasp despite his bodies protest and shot forward with the arrow in his off hand, planting it firmly in the awful creatures throat. 

Several of the goblin gang leapt back, giving the two hunters some space as they assesed this new threat. Sanjin rose to his feet, dragging Rowyn with him. [color=30ced3]”You ok doc?”[/color] he rumbled, pulling the short sword out while they still had a moment and casting an unreadable glance in her direction. She seemed...mostly unhurt. A few scrapes here and there but nothing serious from what he could tell.   He gave the short sword an experimental swing, flicking blood (his blood he noted dully) from the blade. Its balance was nothing to write home about but it would have to do. He gave a small barking laugh, a sudden realization hitting him. [color=30ced3]”This is so much fun isn’t it?!”[/color] he asked, voice as bubbly and excited as it had been back at the bar, the feral rabidness that had brought him to her side briefly forgotten in a fit of whimsy.