The creature stalking Moka was an unusual specimen. Azarus admired it as it hunted his champion. He kept the [Divine Store] a swipe away as he did. At the moment, he was of the mind to gamble on purchasing a [Divine Intervention] if things went sour. Getting eaten by a beast after killing the skinwalker was too ignoble an ending for this run. He would sacrifice a portion of his domain if he needed to.

When Azarus adjusted the mirror’s perspective to match Moka’s, the griffin looked like a small trailing cloud. Up close, it had the silhouette of a horse-sized feline. A ridge of long white feathers with baby-blue spots ran down its back. The ridge merged with its heavily feathered tail, almost twice the length of its body. Its long, sinuous tail drifted on the breeze, completing the creature’s cloud-like appearance from a distance. Its coat was a mix of long, off-white fur with patches of feathers mingled throughout. The feathers grew especially long around the creature’s joints.

The feathers were the dominant bird-like aspect of the griffin. Otherwise, it sported a short, vicious hooked beak at the end of its muzzle. Azarus spotted fangs peeking through its jowls as its whiskers twitched. It did not fly like a bird, opting to stand on the air with its large padded paws instead.

Azarus used [Divine Insight] to inspect it.

[Windstepper Griffin]

Subtype - Beast/Wind

Natural Gifts - Moderate Perception, Knack, and Might

Major Spirit and Reason

Where a standard [Royal Griffin] uses its wings to defy gravity, [Windstepper Griffins] have forsaken their wings to commune with the sky. To them, there is no difference between bounding up a hillside and climbing from the ground to the nearest cloud.

Azarus read the griffin’s gifts and winced. If it got the drop on Moka, this run was as good as over. [Architect] vs ambush predator was a long bet. Thankfully, it seemed content to follow her toward the campfire. Azarus willed the mirror to show him Moka’s destination. There, he found a lone traveler leaning against a pair of heavy saddlebags, a cloth wrapped stick held loosely in her hands. Following the traveler’s gaze, Azarus determined she was well aware of the griffin and unworried.

Resolving to see how things played out, Azarus shifted the mirror’s perspective back to Moka. She was nearing the camp. Her route had taken a turn for the meandering, but Azarus did not fault her for it. She clearly sensed something off with the cloud following her. Ducking around a desiccated tree, she then scrambled through a patch of dark shadow to place herself behind another. The griffin’s sharp eyes followed her with ease.

As the crackle of the campfire reached Moka’s ears, the griffin began its descent. It dropped through the air as if it was descending a series of platforms. Keeping a tree between herself and the cloud at all times, Moka did not notice its approach until too late. The griffin kept its talons sheathed, so Azarus did not intervene. It crept up behind Moka, using her trick of keeping the trees between them. Like an overgrown house cat, it wiggled its haunches, lashing its lengthy tail.

When the griffin pounced, the tree Moka was hiding behind crumbled into dust under its bulk. As far as Azarus could tell, the tree did not slow it down for even a fraction of a second. The griffin landed on her back, front paws on her shoulder blades, with its tail standing straight up and a smug look in its eye. Azarus swore he could almost hear the creature gloating.

Moka’s efforts to claw herself out from beneath its paws seemed to encourage the griffin. It was practically purring and kneading her back by the time the traveler arrived. She was an orcish woman, clad in a thick leather coat with sewn-in steel plates. Azarus noted that when the coat buttoned up, it would effectively become half-plate armor with steel plates protecting her thighs. He nodded in approval, determined to get one like it. She held her cloth-bound stick cradled in her arms.

The woman’s voice was thick and warm as she approached the griffin.

“Good boy. Did you catch dinner?”

The griffin coo-ed back in a purr laden warble. The orcish woman’s tusks gleamed in the orange moonlight as she raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to scratch the beast beneath the chin. Her dry tone did not bother the griffin as it preened in satisfaction.

“An intruder? In your wasteland? How dare they.”

The griffin chirped, clearly agreeing with the words. The woman rolled her eyes.

“Alright, alright. Let them up. If they’re up to no good, I’ll let you play chase with them. Promise.”

That last statement was aimed at Moka, who was currently cursing under her breath as the griffin massaged her into the ground. No stranger to extortion, Moka was quick to voice her understanding. She dropped any pretense of subtlety or niceties.

“I will behave.”

The orcish woman guffawed, a sound Azarus found amusing. She had a funny way of enunciating each ‘ha’, with a weird elongation at the end. It was strange, and he loved it. Not enough to emulate it, of course. It was a ridiculous sound and not fitting for a god. But he admired the way she laughed loud and with no shame.

“No bluster in you, little sister. I like that. Let her up, Rascal.”

The griffin, Rascal, reluctantly released his prize. Moka scrambled to her feet with an indignant look. She brushed the dirt off her clothes with deliberate downward pats, giving Rascal a stink eye the entire time. The griffin paid her no mind, idly inspecting its tail. However, Azarus caught it watching Moka out of the corner of its eye. His luminous eyes sparkled with a gleam that was practically inviting her to run.

Azarus watched the scene play out with a wry grin on his lips. The odds they had already found the [Hero] were looking good. He looked closer, with [Divine Insight].

Tevzaga Spellfist

Archetype - [Hero]

Class - [Mounted Gunslinger]

Bloodline - Orc

Gifts:

Natural - Moderate Vigor, Foresight, and Resilience

Class - Moderate Perception, Spirit, Luck, and Savvy

Major Knack

Skills:

[Quick-sight Sharpshooter]

[Bonded Companion: [Windstepper Griffin]]

[Damage Resistance: Falling]

[Quick Learner]

Spells:

[Imbue: Spirit]

[Create: Iron]

Azarus let out a low whistle as he read Tevzaga’s list of gifts. There was a lot to unpack there, but the long and short of it was that the orcish [Hero] could bend his little [Peasant] over her knee and teach the goblin some manners if she so chose. He would not blame her if she did. Temptation did not befit a god, but Azarus would admit sometimes he felt the urge.

Moka waited for the woman to address her, wanting to sound out the situation. Azarus applauded her wisdom. He could not help wondering how long her temperance would last. It did not take long for the orc woman to speak up. She kept the end of her stick angled in Moka’s general direction.

“What happened to your tusks, little sister?”

Moka bared her teeth at the Hero in an insincere smile.

“Goblins don’t have tusks.”

Tevzaga’s eyes widen. She bounced up on her toes, taking a half-step forward before she caught herself. Her eyes held a sparkle, her lips a good-natured smile.

Stolen story; please report.

“A goblin! What are you doing here? I thought you lot were off being parasites in the Empire. All I ever hear is praise about how you are ‘unremovable pests’.”

Moka rewarded her host’s excitement with a slow blink and a slight cock of her head. She considered something for a moment.

“I am not of this land. My god sent me here with a task.”

Tevzaga squealed. Her hand shot to cover her mouth. A slight blush crept across her cheeks, but her embarrassment could not stem the flood of questions that spilled out of her mouth.

“A goblin [Paladin]?! How! I mean- what? Spirits and gods alike have forsaken this place! Except the nasty ones.”

With that last thought spoken aloud, Tevzaga’s demeanor shifted. In an instant she went from bubbly to serious, the end of her stick leveled at Moka’s chest. Rascal sensed the change and looked up from his preening, eyes glued on Azarus’s champion, the conveniently snack-sized goblin.

“Which god do you serve? What task have they sent you on?”

Moka, in Azarus’s opinion, was handling the sudden changes rather well. Perhaps it was her recent brush with a twenty-five foot tall skinwalker, but she seemed rather unphased by the situation.

“I’m not a [Paladin]. I am an [Architect], in service to the Lord of-” Moka’s cool demeanor shifted to a wide-eyed panic as the skill [Course-Correct] blared in her soul. Azarus felt a moment of appreciation for the skill. Moka continued speaking as if feeling out her words. “Er, I serve Azarus the… Painted Man.”

Tevzaga raised a single eyebrow, bringing the end of her stick up to nestle between her cheek and shoulder. Azarus would bet his boots there was a gun under those cloth wrappings.

“Never heard of him. What’s he got you here doing?” She used her elbow to gesture to the surrounding wasteland, bathed in orange moonlight and dark purple shadows. “Not much to build in these parts. Not since the Empire and their Mana Engines. Seems like something an [Architect] might know a bit about.”

Moka was having none of it. She made a show of checking her tools were intact while waving a dismissive hand Tevzaga’s way.

“Nope. I was helping a village idiot a little bit ago, in a place with huge umbrella trees. Now I am here, looking for a [Hero]. No idea about anything else.”

Tevzaga’s finger twitched. Her aim tightened and a small light bloomed from beneath her palm, where it pressed against the wrapped gun. Azarus knew Moka could sense the violent intent. His champion remained deceptively calm. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight on her back foot. The goblin scowled at the orc, her lead foot tapping with impatience.

Azarus noted Moka’s hands were touching the hilt of her chisel and the end of her ash gray rope, respectively. The direction she was leaning would allow her to put herself between Rascal and the business end of Tevzaga’s gun, if she threw herself into a side roll. As expected of his champion.

“And if you find this so-called hero?”

Tevzaga let out a breath as she left the question hanging. Her finger froze in place on the trigger of her gun, no longer creeping forward. She waited, unbreathing, for Moka’s reply.

Moka shrugged.

“My god said to ‘find the hopeless and change their fate.’ So I guess I’ll do that.”

Tevzaga blinked. Then scowled.

“Is this a joke to you?”

Moka shrugged again.

“Am I laughing?”

Azarus was. On the other side of the mirror, he was wiping a tear from his eye as he tried to contain himself. He wondered if this was how it would have felt to watch his conversation with Kuscal. So insolent! Such arrogance. Moka looked Tevzaga’s death-threat in the eye and shrugged. If she was a representation of him, then he might need to watch his words in the future.

Tevzaga seemed to be infected by Azarus’s humor as she barked an incredulous laugh. She wriggled her gun at the goblin.

“Come on. You have to know what this is. Even if you are completely ignorant, there is no way you are this unbothered with a griffin in spitting distance.”

Moka stuck her nose up and rolled her eyes at Tevzaga.

“I don’t care what that is. My life is my god’s. If he really wants me to stay alive, he’ll do something about it.”

Azarus snorted, then laughed. He supposed he might feel insulted if he so chose. [Divine Punishment] was in the store for a reason. A pettier god might find fault in her words. He chose not to, and he liked that about himself.

Tevzaga tensed, then took a deep breath. She straightened up from her stance, letting her gun fall until it pointed at the ground. With narrowed eyes, she cocked her head at Moka.

“You’re a crazy one, even for a goblin.” She hefted her gun in a motion meant to draw attention to it. “This is a [Mage Killer]. It’s an enchanted gun that uses levitation and repulsion spells to fire a solid metal slug. You would not believe what I had to go through to get this thing.”

Moka stuck to her strategy of shrugging.

“Still don’t care. I have no issues with you other than the hostile welcome. I don’t even know who you are.”

Tevzaga reached up to scratch her chin. She bounced her head from side to side, her lips pursed in thought. After a moment’s consideration, she nodded.

“You make a good point, little sister. My name is Tevzaga. I could be the [Hero] you seek. They’re the types with the mission to save their people, right?”

Moka, true to form, shrugged.

“Nobody else is around, and you seem hopeless enough. What can I help you with, hero? Got a big, bad monster in need of slaying?”

Tevzaga’s lips curled up into a tight, lipless smile that seemed directed inward. Her eyes softened, filling with a distant yearning. After a beat, she gathered herself and turned toward her camp, beckoning Moka to follow by waving over her shoulder.

“No monster. A lovely man, really. Could have been your hero if you ran into him first. Come on, may as well tell you about it somewhere a touch more cozy.”

Moka hop-stepped up next to Tevzaga, matching each of the orcish hero’s long strides with two of her own. The orcish woman towered head and shoulders over the goblin. Moka’s hand drifted up to rub her stomach.

“Do you have food?”

Tevzaga winced, looking away sheepishly. She shot Moka a look out of the corner of her eye.

“To be honest, I was hoping you were dinner.” Moka glared at the orc woman, who responded with a mimicry of Moka’s earlier shrugs. “No mana and diverted rivers mean that food is in short supply around here. It’s the core issue, really. Not that we can do anything about it.”

Moka hummed to herself, a thoughtful expression adorning her face. Azarus almost considered using [Through Mortal Eyes] to see if she was going to pitch humans as a substitute for pork. Thankfully, she refrained. She kept her silence until they arrived at the camp. Camp was a poor descriptor for the cleared space with entire trees snapped off at the base, burning in a shallow pit. Moka walked over to an opening between two withered stumps, and held out both hands in front of her. She stood there for a minute, nothing happening. Tevzaga watched her from the corner of her eye as she fiddled with her saddlebags.

Without warning, Moka’s hand moved as if it had a life of its own. Light trailed behind her forefinger as her wrist writhed like a thing possessed. Azarus watched the spell form, nursing his anticipation. [Create: Food and Water] was Moka’s first spell, and he was curious about what kind of food would appear. Bread was the obvious choice, but what kind of divine spell would that be?

White light flashed from the spell circle, covering the open space in front of Moka. When the light cleared, food and water rested on the ground. To Azarus’s immense satisfaction, the food that appeared was a traveler’s spread like he would have picked out himself. Pouches of dried meat leaned against a paper bag of flour, with jars of pickled vegetables and preserved fruit to complement packets of seasoning and yeast off to the side. There was even a bundle of fresh apples. Next to the food were two leather water skins filled to bursting.

Tevzaga was peering over Moka’s shoulder almost as soon as the light cleared. Her gun was over by the fire, leaning against her saddlebags. A string of drool ran down from one of her tusks. She absentmindedly wiped it off on her sleeve.

“I underestimated you, little sister. [Architects] must be pillars of society where you come from.”

Moka sank into a crouch, examining the food. She picked up an apple, taking a crisp sounding bite out of it. Her half-lidded ruby eyes shifted over to Tevzaga while she chewed. She spoke through a full mouth as she ate the apple with relish.

“Wouldn’t know. My god made me an [Architect]. I was just a village girl before.” Moka popped the core of the apple into her mouth, crunching down on the seeds and stem. She snagged another apple. “You got a pot? We can make stew and bread.”

Moka tossed the apple to Tevzaga to punctuate her sentence. In one smooth motion, Tevzaga caught it, tore it in half, and tossed half to Rascal, who crunched it down in one bite and licked his chops. She took a small bite out of her half, savoring the sweet burst of juice.

“Mmm, yeah. Pot. Sure.” Tevzaga mumbled through her mouthful of apple, lifting her hand palm up. A glowing spell circle appeared, spinning just over the surface of her skin. Azarus recognized the light from earlier, when the [Hero] was on the cusp of shooting his champion.

The light pulsed with every completed spin, growing faster as the circle sped up. When the pulsing reached a crescendo, the light flashed, illuminating the dusky evening around them. A plain iron pot plopped into Tevzaga’s outstretched hand. She proffered it to Moka as she took another bite of her apple. Moka took it, rapping it with a knuckle. She looked impressed by the magically created item.

Tevzaga smirked at Moka’s awe, finishing her bite before speaking.

“You cook and I’ll explain what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Moka grunted, looking from the pot to Tevzaga with an expression that made it clear she was less than thrilled to be stuck with cooking duty after providing the food. The [Mounted Gunslinger] pretended not to notice, turning on her heel to amble back toward the fire. She had a mind to offer her goblin guest a half-hearted excuse.

“I’d hate to ruin your food. Besides, it’s a long story for a stranger with no context. You might not even be on my side by the end.”

Grumbling to herself, Moka packed the food and water into the pot and dragged it over to the fire, where she unpacked it with a disgruntled expression. She gave Tevzaga several pointed looks as she used her chisel to arrange a bed of coals to rest the pot on. Her glare intensified as she embedded the pot at an angle into the soft dirt. Tevzaga refused to meet her eye, looking off to the side as she silently rehearsed what she wanted to say. Moka poured flour, yeast, salt, and water into the bottom of the angled pot, kneading it into a rough dough in a fashion that suggested she was working through some anger.

Tevzaga coughed into her fist.

“Okay, so, here is the thing-”