“There they are.” Percival said, light from the goblin’s campfire lighting up the edge of their faces as both he and Tarri hid behind some nearby trees.
“Can you see the satchel?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s on the big one,” he said, pointing to a large goblin sitting atop several others, like a makeshift throne. The remaining goblins were dancing and chanting around the fire.
“Any clan markings?”
“Nope. Must be a rogue group.”
“Explains why they're so far north.”
He nodded. “Got a plan?”
“Let me think for a sec.”
Tarri took her deck of spell cards and skimmed through them, trying to find some card or combination of cards that might work well in their current predicament. Meanwhile, Percival closed his eyes and concentrated. He muttered a word quietly, and a dark aura formed around him, rapidly chilling the surrounding air.
“Stop!” she whispered. “Dispel that, now!”
He looked at her, shocked. “Why?” he whispered back.
“Because I won’t let you kill yourself over a satchel.”
“I don’t know what—”
“You know, you’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets. You’re a dark knight, right?”
“It was that obvious?”
She scoffed. “I watched my father make so many sets of armor for other dark knights. I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner.”
“Sorry,” Percival said as he mostly dispelled his aura, allowing a barely perceptible amount to remain. “I should’ve told you earlier.”
“It’s fine, really. Take this,” Tarri said, handing him a card.
“What is it?”
Her face lit up with a wide smile. “Do you remember playing hide and seek in the Mists?”
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Zub was a very happy goblin. He was fully enjoying the celebration of their first successful raid, proudly wearing their plunder around himself. The odd leather belt draped over his shoulder made him feel like royalty, and so he had demanded Pagg and Adgus to arrange themselves into a throne for him. He watched the other goblins dancing around the large fire and smiled. Today is best day, he thought.
But then, Zub noticed something odd. He squinted at the treeline and spotted several waves of fog rolling out of the forest, heading directly towards their camp. He knew little about fog, but he had a feeling that this was not how fog was supposed to act.
“Arms!” he said, springing off his makeshift throne and unsheathing a small, jagged dagger dripping with a viscous, green liquid. The other goblins ceased their revelry and pulled their weapons out as well, with Pagg and Adgus being the last ones to do so. The fog soon burrowed itself through the camp. Zub braced himself as a wave of fog passed through him, and his world immediately fell silent. He looked around frantically, trying to find any of his companions, but not able to even see his former throne components, which should have been right next to him. He attempted to scream out, but the fog felt like it was choking him as soon as he tried to open his mouth. His breathing turned heavy as he took several steps backwards, both hands gripping the dagger.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Zub felt a tug on the odd leather belt and looked down at the large belt buckle. A hand, a not-goblin hand, was trying to cut it off. His fear turned to rage. How dare the not-goblin plunder my plunder! He changed the grip on his dagger and lodged it into the hand. It flinched as the green liquid oozed into the wound, but this only seemed to hasten the hand’s efforts, successfully cutting off one strap of the belt and pulling the whole thing off of him before disappearing into the fog.
Zub fell to his knees. He not only lost his plunder, but his dagger as well. Suddenly, he sensed a faint, icy presence behind him. He turned around and looked up. A shadowy figure was glaring back at him, with its fists raised high into the air. Zub gulped.
Today is worst day.
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As soon as Tarri retreated from the fog with the satchel, she pulled out the dagger and threw it to the ground. Her hand felt like it was on fire. Quickly hiding behind a nearby tree, she examined the wound. Whatever the weapon was coated with had oozed into the wound and caused it to turn a putrid yellow. She frantically sorted through her spell cards with her uninjured hand, scattered them on the ground, until she found a card for a healing potion. She activated it and the potion appeared in its place. Hastily, she popped the top off and poured it over the wound, but this only aggravated it further. Her hand was practically boiling. Tarri screamed. Percival emerged from the fog and hurried over to her, kneeling down and examining the wound.
“What the hell kind of poison is this?” she yelled, beads of sweat dripping down her head.
“I don’t know,” Percival said, frantically glancing at the wound and her face. “But I think I can fix it.”
“With…darkness…?” she said through heavy breaths.
He nodded.
“Is there…no other…” The wound flared up again, sending a wave of scorching pain throughout her arm. “FUCK! Do it!”
Percival grasped Tarri’s wounded hand, causing her to yelp. “Ajua! Ejijauq!” Darkness gathered around him, rapidly cooling the surrounding air. He concentrated the dark aura around his hands and forced it to seep into the wound.
An icy chill replaced the searing pain, making her feel lightheaded. “Thank you…Percival…” she said before completely collapsing onto him.
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Tarri blinked several times as she woke up, her eyes adjusting to the orange glow of the setting sun. It took her a moment to realize she was being carried on Percival’s back, her arms slumped over his shoulders. The briny air awakened her senses a bit more, and she looked around to see a variety of shacks with barrels of all kinds of fish set in front of them.
“Wulcan…” she said, groggily.
“Look who finally woke up.” Percival said. “You feeling okay?”
Tarri looked down at her hand. A nasty scar had formed in the middle of her hand. Just looking at it brought back a flicker of the burning sensation the wound had wrought, but it quickly subsided. “Yeah, I think.”
“Good. Can you walk?”
She nodded, and Percival let her down gently.
“Where’s Armond?” Tarri asked.
“Already taking care of business. He gave a fairly stirring presentation that I’m sure would convince even the most stubborn of fishermen to trade with him.”
“And payment?”
Percival pulled two small pouches out of his bag. “One for me, one for you.” He dropped one into Tarri’s hands. She nearly dropped it, the weight of it catching her by surprise.
“This feels heavier than it should be.”
“Despite my protests, he insisted on paying us triple for retrieving his satchel.” Percival shook his head. “I had a feeling we would have argued about payment until the sun came up, and neither of us would agree about it. So, I capitulated.”
“I see. I guess with that settled, it’s back to Nofronio then.”
He nodded. “In the morning. I want to get some rest tonight, considering the headache’s worth of paperwork I’m going to be signing tomorrow.”
“You mean, you’re actually willing to be a co-signer?” Tarri asked, her face glowing.
“Of course. I said once the job was done I would.”
She gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Percival.” She let go and ran towards an inn. “I’ll get us some rooms!”
Percival chuckled as she left. He felt a tear run down his cheek and reached up to touch it. He frowned and took a deep breath. Best enjoy this while I still can, he thought to himself, before walking towards the inn.