Heist and Defender

Wanderer waited patiently in the grass for another quarter of an hour before the two finally finished their argument with a statement in some way related to the setting sun, the tall human filled with dejection and the smaller a smug justice.

Just as the sun was beginning to finish its northward hike across the sky and the first of the many moons poked its face above the mountains in the south, Wanderer moved from their hiding place in the grass and snuck around the cloth wall of the tent.

Emio looked up for a second as they left, but quickly went back to their evening nap, not terribly bothered by Wanderer’s departure.

While the tent was permanently and sturdily built, it was still only pegged down and possessed large gaps around the floor in some places which Wanderer could spy under.

The group of humans were mostly still active, many cooking around a fire or setting away their things in even smaller, individual tents and shelters.

It seemed this group’s purpose was to transport items, as they had vast crates filled to the brim with various trinkets and tools, all of which were stocked on a large caravan.

Their Spirit drew their attention to a spot in one of the less populated areas of the tent, toward the back, where the short human they had seen from earlier sat watching over the group, their stone mask making what would be a somewhat normal scene take on an air of menacing.

But even more important was their chosen target, the flare-bow, sitting on the ground next to the vibrantly coloured sentinel, just begging to be taken.

Wanderer didn’t need to be convinced of their plan twice, moving over to the side of the tent closet to their target and yanking out one of the pegs, allowing a big enough gap for them to crawl under.

The short human, and by extension the flare-bow, were sitting upon one of the many large crates quite close to the wall of the massive tent, a perfect target for a stealth inclined Golem.

That made Wanderer’s plan easy, all they had to do was sneak up behind the human, snatch their prize and get back out, they hardly even had to worry about anyone but the watching guard, as the crate they were sitting on would hide the Vessel's approach.

Slowly but surely, they crawled toward their target, it was only a few steps away but the snail’s pace the Vessel chose to adopt, (to preserve stealth) made it feel like years.

“I must be careful,” Wanderer knew.

They knew that their body wasn’t built for stealth, large and accented with reflective metals as it was.

Despite this, they moved toward their goal step by step, on high alert for any signs that someone may have noticed their infiltration, but despite their paranoia, they detected nothing.

After what felt like years but was likely only a matter of moments, the flare-firing utility was within their reach, and with its nearby protector none the wiser, the Golem slowly began to reach for their quarry.

They had wrapped two of their long fingers around the handle, before the unaware guard shifted slightly in their seat, the slight movement causing Wanderer to stiffen, their mind racing with anxieties.

But it was too late to turn back now, they quickly grabbed the crossbow and shuffled out of immediate danger.

A part of Wanderer felt the action was wrong, but the Vessel quickly quashed the guilt, they needed it more than anyone else did, and besides, what was the difference between taking this and taking the items they found in the abandoned mine?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

They cleared their conscience and snuck away, as silently as they could.

Yet just as they were about to squeeze back through the tent wall, a critical mistake in their plan revealed itself, heralded by a light clinking noise coming from the satchel by their side.

“I should have left their bag with Emio." They realised with dread.

Yet the Golem was so used to having it on their person that they didn’t even think to take it off, the leather container had become almost like a seventh limb.

And now they were paying the price for their actions, staying stock still and hoping that the human hadn’t heard the sound.

The sound of boots hitting the floor with unnatural force heralded their failure.

Wanderer didn’t even turn around, they got up from their position on the ground and sprinted.

But they weren’t fast enough, before they had made even a step to escape, the human they had stolen from let out a viscous shout, before pulling a short but heavy blade from somewhere inside of their flowing robes.

As the rest of the camp began to realise what was happening, the blade swung down with deadly practice, cleaving through Wanderer’s right shoulder like a wire through clay and ripping almost halfway down their torso.

What hit Wanderer first wasn’t the pain, nor the realisation of how colossal of a mistake they had made by sneaking into the tent, what hit them was a wave of dread.

Dread because they had a terrible yet obvious realisation, that they were not impervious to physical attacks.

Somewhere in their mind, they had made the false connection that no matter how deep a blade cuts or how hard a monster hits, they could always meld their clay body into shape afterwards, that only magic could permanently harm them.

And while this was a reasonable assumption, there was one critical error in their perception of their own body that changed this drastically.

When they looked inside themself, at their soul and Spirit, they had assumed that they were seeing inside some kind of spiritual plane, that magic was the only thing that could hurt their soul.

They were wrong.

Because as that blade cleaved deep into their chest, they realised that while their soul was spiritual, the deep well of energy that made up who they were also took a physical form, their soul was stuck between the magic and mundane, and while their body was resilient, their soul was very vulnerable to both.

This fact was all too apparent in the Golem’s mind as they felt the sword stop just a hair away from where their soul rested, the hefty blade only coming to a halt because of their blessing-hardened body.

It was then, as the human began to pull out the blade, that the pain hit them like a boulder.

It was like a line of fire had set alight from their shoulder to their chest, following along the destructive trail the sword had left, burning, twisting and stabbing with pulses of unrelenting pain.

Wanderer didn’t think, they ran with all their might toward the main exit to the tent, not even flinching when the blade which was firmly stuck in their body was yanked out by their aggressor.

They had managed to make it a few steps from the door when the foot steps caught up to their current position, the Vessel diving to the floor not an instant later.

An instant that likely saved their life, as a devastating blow that would likely have taken their head swept by not a moment later.

Yet their reprieve was brief, the missed blow failing to deter their aggressor as they primed to take a finishing strike on the prone Golem.

There was no way out, nothing they could do and their Spirit was still unresponsive.

The short sword flew from its failed strike to a readied stance with practised precision, hesitating for just a moment so that its wielder could work out the best possible target to fufill their duty.

The blade began its downward arc, sealing the Golem’s fate.

Yet it never reached its target, the tall man from before placing himself in the way with a shout of protest.

At the last moment, the trained warrior managed to divert their weapon to miss both man and Golem, the steel swiping through the air with a quiet whistle.

Perhaps if they were in a better state of mind, the Golem would have stayed to learn why they were spared or to thank their saviour, but at that moment the only thing Wanderer could think of was their escape.

In an instant, the Vessel dashed off like a wounded animal out into the night, not even waiting for a second to look back at the consequences of their actions.

They only rested when they had managed to dive deep into the grassy fields, where no hot-blooded human would dare to chase them.

In amongst the ticks, where they were safe.