To start, a young troll, Don, squeezed in a boat, as she curled her lips inward and scratched her lower back.
Moving on to a more abstract and figurative note, wood cracked into Don’s ears and sang a lullaby that turned her into a sullying quadruple; every rock of the boat syrupped her into a seething blaze of coarse flame and damning incarnation. The sky would tether them into the inevitable, trifling seat of the river’s bed.
Anyway, Don said: “What’s with the small golem back there?”
She rubbed her chin. “Is it operational or something?”
When it came to context, Don was a troll from a far land, and she was coming here to help a man named "Sam." Moreover, she brought two young goblins, whom she had taken under her care. As for her role, being a troll, she was a powerful creature, and Sam, a hybrid between man and fish—a *fishman*—wanted her help in a coming fight. In conclusion, she was headed to the camp where Sam and his soldiers were, and the fight was about to begin.
Returning to the moment, she played with a weighty, disproportionate, mechanical toy the size of her hand. The rubbing of her lips, like a grimace, fled into raised brows and a blown raspberry.
Dancing yet again into a more metaphorical and abstract tone, the night sky elated her like a molten skee across a dance of tulips organized in a heap. Her soul became uninhabited, dull like a stopped refrain.
To explain these abstractions, despite her seemingly dull and emotionally hampered demeanor, Don had a very vivid inner life, her internal complexities sundering each other and creating vast works of imaginitive artistry.
Bouncing back to the common level, a part fell from the toy Don held, dropping the ground, and the two goblins with her—Ritand and Bata—bent down to pick it up. All three of them were on the same boat.
Regarding their subjective experience altogether, shining white lights blinded them, their moods in suspense at the edge of precipices and unresolved like tritone.
Moving on to one excluding Don; Ritand and Bata imagined themselves like bats soaring and swooning after the birth of a crisp, elegant smile on Don’s face.
Coincidentally, when they bent down and their boat rocked, they dropped the pocketed necklaces.
They gasped and scrambled to return it.
In the end, the night sky demanded their careful obedience to the endless abandon, time and place fifteen years in the past.
Heading into a new phase, Don helped pick up the necklaces on the floor of the boat, smoothing out her sleeves and bending over.
Stretching focus to a larger view, their boat touched land between massifs between a deep valley on one of many white beaches. Faraway, rock outcrops, pinnacles, and cave systems made up this karst region.
Falling back to the in-person perspective, after they crossed the beach, Don tsk-tsked, crouched, and grabbed a torch on the way into a tent.
Playing with a mystical vibe, Sam, a fishman, stood deep inside the tent, staring at the ground, fidgeting with his decorative gills. Second, a cup of bitter coffee dripped down his mouth and mustache: he drank anyhow. Lastly, he shook when he saw Don.
Heightening the mystical aspect, in his head, Sam danced with the fairies as they pointed to his plan for the stone wall Don. Second, he twisted his torso and curled his head, his stomach lightening at the appearance of even an inch of the magnificent troll. Finally, the Arabica coffee by his side softened his gills and made the shadowed light like a soothing, sooting embrace.
Bringing the mystical quality to the everyday level, Sam pointed to his engraved wand containing mana crystal shards. “Pretty heavy.” His voice shook somewhat halfway.
Zooming to Don's side of things, having only entered the cave, she flicked her finger against the toy in her clasped hands in a cursory, fidgeting manner. Then, he gave Sam a greeting stare.
Lowering to Ritand's view, he said, pushing aside Don's leg, “Get out of the way."
When it came to Sam's response, looking downwards, he raised his head, cleared his throat, and said, “Ritand, how sweet! Sick father, again?”
Stretching the view to include Bata, he and Ritand pointed their eyes at him, turning their heads toward the cages around them. Bata was holding onto Ritand’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, Sam said, clearing his throat, wrinkling his nose: "My troopers... they're working." He followed Bata and Ritand's eyes, looking at the cages as well.
Incidentally, Ritand said okay, and Bata pushed the pouch of Ritand behind him, patting Don’s leg twice.
With her attention captured, Don turned around, sat on her haunches, and realigned Ritand’s pouch’s straps up and down until Ritand gave an okay.
In conclusion, not much was said, but Don, Ritand, and Bata were generally comfortable. Sam was making strange statements, but Don was in understanding. Though, she wasn't exactly keen on establishing a long coherent discussion, so their meeting ended with not much said. However, they did already know what to do. The meeting was merely a formality, even if it had nothing to do with the word "formal."
Casting light on a new stage, later, outside Sam's tent and at the camp frontline, Don sat down on a pair of piled logs, putting her foot against a pile of gravel. Ritand and Bata were nearby.
Don pointed to the left, as goblin workers followed Don’s direction.
Bata cracked his fingers on one hand, using only the thumb of the same hand to do it, and walked in a circle. Ritand hugged a log and leaned down on it.
“It’s...” Don imitated a clicking sound, stretched a hand backward, and turned her head around to stare at Sam’s tent. “...right over there.”
Bata rested his chin on his hand and squinted, as a bunch of fishmen passed by him. Ritand glanced at Bata and turned his head toward a loud thud. He got up from the ground and climbed until he was beside Don.
In the distance, six goblins carried a log that fell on their legs. Don dashed and helped these six goblins out of their predicament.
Stolen story; please report.
Simultaneously, Ritand and Bata got off the log, as a host of figures wandered close to the site. The two goblins took a deep breath and sighed halfway.
Riding onto a more tense mood, Ritand raised his brows and lip-pointed to them, shaking his hands. “It’s them—the warning!” he said, putting his cup down. As all of the other goblins strided along still, Ritand repeated himself, crescendoing at the phrase “the warning.”
The atmosphere taking a new shape, Bata lifted his head toward a meteor of smokeless fire blasting the camp’s most vulnerable side, his brows squinting somewhat. In the blast, screams pointed at the gory pastes of fishmen.
Introducing Don, Bata, and Ritand's new enemies, in the distance, adventurers slid down the slope and overtook the half-armored goblins. They swung and clashed until these goblins hit the floor.
Furthermore, they held back when they attacked and gave their all when they defended. They hoped that the goblins only died because of their bad falls.
As for the response of Sam and his men, the last fishmen came out of their tents and cast spells of ice that pushed back the adventurers until they retreated.
The fishmen gathered themselves and composed their spirits into one arcane blast of impaling halberds of ice.
Elevating their actions onto a more symbolic layer, their anger united them under a common banner of revenge.
Swinging to the result of the fishmen's attacks, soon enough, the impaled adventurers dotted the floor, as their bodies became a stench.
Turning to something more disturbing than blasts of ice, the fishmen gathered the adventurers' bodies and consumed them, shining with golden light for a moment. On another note, in blows of feet against the ground floor, they waved their hands and took sharp inhales.
Similarly, they each drank a mana potion, as they slung their heavy arms to cast the impaling ice, crying. The side effects of mana potions and their current emotion state combined to make them psychotic.
Ascending to a highly metaphorical domain, they felt the grace of gods pushing them to eradicate the enlightened species, the humans. An eagle spread forth above them and guided them toward victory. The light above became their love, and their love spread forth through magical, sickening gorges in front of them.
In that very moment, besides the dead adventurers, the living ones ran, but the goblins caught up on four legs and surrounded them. As a side note, they rubbed some dirt off their hands on their trousers.
Expanding on the goblins' ferocity, they edged closer every time the adventurers eyed the goblins’ weapons, fidgeting and twisting their body around.
Several moments later, bringing Don into the stage, she placed her hand against the goblins as they fled, guiding them away from the adventureres' arrows and blasts.
Including Sam into the picture, she turned her head toward him as he fell. Behind the goblins, Sam shifted one arm forward and rubbed the elbow with his other hand. “What is it?” he said after he drunk a mana potion. Spreading attention to the background, a fishman flanked him a long distance away on each side.
In the same picture, Bata said, grabbing Ritand by the arm, heading toward Sam, “Don?”
Focusing on Sam's state after he fell, his mouth, eyes, cheeks, and nose turned still. His back became as straight as a stool.
Adjusting to the larger background, the fight with the adventurers continued.
Moving the mood to a lighter one, Ritand caressed Bata’s back and pressed him to do the same.
“Sam, Sam.” Don steepled her fingertips against a potion on her thighs.
Bata said, “Look at their marks—”
He hoped that Don would be pleased with his performance.
Ritand said, “The birthmarks!”
He felt the same as Bata did.
“Birthmarks? This is a high turnover,” Sam said, holding up steepled fingertips. He shouted an incantation: “Tier 2 Shock—”
“Wrong spell,” Ritand said, placing his hand in front of Sam’s face and waving it. Because Sam canceled his spell, his stomach turned over.
Ritand took a deep breath, raised her brows hard, and locked eyes with Don.
Don grinned.
Ritand smiled back, and Bata grinned with an open smile.
A slow wail in the distance blared, as Ritand rubbed his hands together.
Don closed her fingers and tapped Ritand’s shoulder and then his hands. He gazed at Ritand and shot the toy back to Bata. Ritand shoved Don’s hands off and threw out a thank you.
“I’ll give you food later, okay?” he said, frowning on one side of his face.
Ritand curled his lips inward and twisted his head to the side, avoiding Don’s eyes.
He nodded.
Meanwhile, on the safer edges of the battle, goblin workers grouped up on a large cart, some of them hanging to the side and back. They hurried out of the camp site to the closest city, grumbling and pushing one another. Moreover, one of them carried the name "Sicario," who would play a role in Don and the two goblins' journey later on.
They winced at the fishmen’s glances toward them every time they tapped their fingers on the weapons that they tucked away at the side.
Recentering onto the middle of the brawl, goblin warriors fell to the ground, as the adventurers threw javelins and swung at them.
The goblin warriors hurled their handles back and forth, lodging their weapons into a whirl of sullying plumps. The adventurers danced in a mockery of javelins, tossing their torsos with the shots that they flung.
The youngest of the goblins fixed their simple bows in their sweat, shooting anyhow.
The goblins stormed into a human and skewered him with their silky whisks and sick tugs. The humans hurled the goblins off him and stuck around in a fight to the death, running off in a pike charge.
Incorporating Don into this fight, she trudged forth into battle, raised her arms, and stood in the way. She was charging, and she put her cloaked hand over the face of the human the goblins targeted and flung him away.
Don commanded the clouds forth to pull her into the fight. The load of castles sunk under her arms, as they transformed into hundreds of ships of stone. She beat her arms across the sea of muddy earth, hurling herself over the human’s face.
She submerged in his mouth a cloaked, feathery hand, choking him. Then, she swung him into the edges of her sight.
The human broke his back, as red liquid wet his palate.
The goblins congratulated, becoming a tapestry of thank yous.
Don dismissed them with a wave, handling a wet cloth with her other hand.
The humans shielded the fleeing human whom Don had thrown. Moreover, they guided him into their breaking fold-like formaton.
Directing the spotlight to the broader fight, every time a goblin ate a blade with their body, these humans twisted and galloped, jerking off their halberds and swords to further effect.
For each dead goblin, an allied knife plunged into them, and an undead version of them rose off the inanimate ground, twisting its back.
The humans whirled their hands into waves of forward thrusts, as the ground listened to their incantations. Mud bursted from the ground, replacing the hard soil below it. Don hissed, trudging away to avoid getting caught.
Incidental to this ongoing fight, goblin’s head covers fell into pockets, and necklaces were rotated so that they were at the back. Wool trousers took in most of the wealth.
Anyway, introducing the leader of the adventurers, Solvent, a human raid leader, matched Don’s height shoulder-to-shoulder. At the moment, she dangled an oversized necklace above her shoulders. In the larger fight, she huffed each time she hit the goblin vanguards, blunting their shields and armor tips and edges. Overall, she represented the adventurers, but she was also her own person.
Breaking new ground with metaphorical expression, the sky screamed into a radial platitude of sonnet winds at Solvent's careful movements. The goblins hurled back and forth with the waves of her tingling sky of sword swings. Their metal crumbled under the weight of her composition. The necklace held over her the sky of self-abandonment and, yet, immortality.
As for her succeeding actions, Solvent said, “Tire them long enough.” She raised her head, eying the back of the goblins. She pressed two fingers across her forehead and slid them down to her nose, pressing it. She retracted her fingers and huffed, as her furrowed stare tightened further.
“Go!” The monsters’ strongest, Don, threw her bare fist ahead, as Solvent swung, steering downwards columns of adventurers.
Solvent slammed her fists as she ran.
The perspiring goblin frontline charged anyhow through the shrubby slope, holding somehow onto one another and the outcropping rock ledges and creeping figs.
Unveiling magic in an immersive way, Solvent strummed up tiny orbs from her hands and passed them along the winds until they disappeared. A toxic gas leapt from her mouth, but she lost her energy to stand, finding a tiny hiccup flying from her throat. “Heaven’s Joy!” she said, her words inviting the magical winds and beckoning a spell's appearance.
After the able raiders got Solvent off the arrows’ trajectory, the air exploded in front of the goblins, signalling the completion of Solvent's magic spell.