The goblin leader, resplendent in his pink ruffles, took a menacing step closer to Moka. He brought his sickle to his lips, licking the blade with his long tongue. Moka never let her eyes rest, scanning between the three strangers. She held a grenade to her side, sheltered from sight by her body. Her fingers, made clumsy by layers of leather and wood, mimed the motion of snapping. The flint and steel pads on the gloves scraped lightly against each other, fruitlessly trying to bring a spark to life.
Behind Moka, the curtains of vines over the fallen tree made an effective wall. She could run through it, but she knew better. Inciting a chase with goblins was a losing game. Hiding would give them time to invent creative solutions.
The trees lining the glade, their branches dripping vines, made it seem like the goblins stood in the hollow of a gigantic stump. Overhead, light emanated from the vine ceiling. The flapping whir of a spinning chain filled the air.
Moka snapped in endless repetition. Sweat beaded her brow as she failed to create a spark. Using her lead hand and her foot, she swiveled her staff between the goblins, making it clear she was not an easy target. Her ears swiveled toward her hand, hoping to hear the telltale crackle of flames.
The approaching goblins spread out, wary of what she was hiding behind her back. The mallet wielder inched closer every time Moka’s attention shifted away from him. He used his body and multitude of loose shirts to hide his stump of a mallet from sight.
The goblin with the chain stayed back, a pile of loose chains gathered at his feet. Rag covered chains wrapped around his torso, providing effective armor. He kept the weighted end of his chain spinning, ready to put his range to use.
The leader held out an empty hand to Moka, letting his sickle half fall. He shuffled a few steps forward. Moka took a half step in his direction, using one hand to make a jab toward his face with her staff. He stopped, his lips curling in a creeping smile, baring sharp, snaggled teeth. With a light cough, he adjusted his ruffles and made a ‘come hither’ motion.
“Be a good goblin. Come easy. Boss will be happy.”
Moka took a step to the side, putting the leader between her and the chain wielder. The sound of his chain covered the incessant clicks as she struggled to make a spark without looking. Her breath came fast and heavy. She bared her fangs, her anger shining through her eyes like beacons.
“You’re an animal, preying on your kind.”
There was a hiss that could have been air between Moka’s teeth, or the ignition of a wick. She did not dare take her eyes off the encroaching raiders to look.
The goblin with the chain scoffed. The leader waved his sickle to quiet him. He spoke anyway.
“Big talk for a nature-serving elf-lover.”
When he spoke, Moka’s attention shifted to the chain wielder, following the sound. The many-shirted goblin took a sudden step forward. He was only a few body lengths away now. Her attention jerked back. The leader took soft steps closer. Moka was out of time. She threw the grenade with a cry. Lit or not, she needed her hands free.
“Azarus is not a god of nature!”
The grenade whipped through the space between Moka and the leader, fueled by [Giant-friend]. It left a trail of light purple smoke spiraling behind it. Azarus watched with rapt attention, mentally weighing the pros and cons of intervening so early in a run. The grenade was in front of the leader’s face in an instant. He was too slow to dodge or parry. The sharp eyes and quick hands of the chain goblin split the difference. With a flick of his wrist, he sent his chain to meet the projectile.
The chain snapped out straight, the dirty rags cracking together, like the goblin was thrusting a lance covered in firecrackers. The weighted end of the chain missed the grenade by fractions of an inch, a hair too slow. A crusty piece of silk, jammed between two links, brushed against the clay orb as the chain passed, pushing it off course. Purple sparks jumped from the fuse to the silk.
The redirected grenade flashed past the lead goblin’s face, passing close enough for him to kiss it. It hit the ground between the leader and the chain goblin. The grenade erupted, a ball of violet fire and dark purple smoke. Moka fled, pushing back through the curtain of vines.
Super heated air pushed the lead goblin face first into the ground, his pink, ruffled blouse becoming violet as the flames consumed it. His glassy red eyes looked shallow, like dabs of paint instead of rubies. The goblin with chains yelled in terror, desperately trying to pat out the violet flames spotting his once-white collared shirt. With each wild flail, fire crawled up his hands.
The large goblin in his many shirts staggered upright, recovering from the blast. He looked toward the source of the fire just in time to watch the chain come to life. The weighted tip of the chain writhed and burst into violet flame. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, a flaming, purple snake ripped through the chain, taking its place. Purple fire raced down the links, back toward the goblin. Every link the fire consumed swelled, turning into thick, scale covered muscle. Its scales resembled melted chains forged together.
Yells turns to screams as the goblin with chains around his torso found himself in a gigantic serpent’s coils. The large goblin never had the chance to decide to help or flee.
In the center of the glade, the violet fire burned hottest. Where the grenade exploded, there was an ominous blaze growing larger. From the depths of the fire, a dark, plated gauntlet reached out. It pointed a single finger at the goblin with many shirts. The fire parted, allowing a towering, armored figure to walk through unimpeded.
Hefting a burning great sword, the figure stared down at the large goblin. The stump-mallet looked like a twig in the goblin’s trembling hands. The figure leveled its sword at the goblin with one hand. Thin leather cords hung from its neck, each one decorated with dozens of long, pointed green ears.
The armored figure stepped in, pivoting toward his extended arm and bringing his trailing leg around. With the grace of a dancer, it spun. It swung its great sword in a fiery backspin, tracing an arc of fire around itself like a corona.
Using both hands, the goblin brought his stump-mallet up to the side of his face. He hunched his shoulders, cowering behind it. The force of the great sword hitting the stump rocked the goblin. He stumbled, eyes focusing and unfocusing. There was a tugging in his hands that kept him from moving further away. The goblin looked down to see he had kept his grip on his mallet. The sword was stuck halfway through it.
Seeing a path to survival, the goblin acted without hesitation. He wrenched the mallet to the side, trying to take his opponent’s weapon. The armored figure let it go without a fight. Raising their now-empty gauntlet in the air, they made a gesture. A ribbon of purple flame floated from the blaze behind the figure, settling in their hand. They lowered their hand at the goblin. By the time it was level, they were holding a large two-headed battle-axe.
Azarus watched the scene play out with visible confusion.The glade looked like it was on fire. Thick purple clouds of smoke hung low and suffocating. Bright violet flames spread to whatever they touched, burning merrily away. Something was wrong. The snake and armored figure were not products of [Goblinfire]. The plants were not burning.
Squinting his eyes, Azarus re-examined the screen. The snake and the figure vanished. Two of the three raiders were dead, consumed by fire. The last was thrashing in the throes of a vision as the fire consumed him. Azarus turned [Divine Insight] on the violet flames. This was not what he expected.
[Faefire]: Magical flames that burn the mind. It burns as hot as the victim believes it does. Creates an illusionary smoke.
It was not [Goblinfire]. For his purposes, it was better. A wildfire, caused by a single grenade that required magical means to extinguish, did not further his ends. Despite the benefits, it was not what [Create Blueprint] had promised. That was an issue.
When the screaming died down, the final goblin finished by his hallucinations, Moka parted the vines just enough to see out of. Azarus stifled the urge to call out a warning and put [Chosen One] to the test. He needed to know how she would react to the [Faefire]. The run depended on it.
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Heavy smoke and violet flames covered the glade. Three blazing pyres marked the bodies. They cast off shimmering violet sparks. Azarus watched a spark fly from the nearest pyre, landing on the vines next to Moka. It transformed into a small purple flame, creeping like a [Fire Slime] down the vines toward where Moka’s claw held the curtain open. Like a drop of dew rolling off a flower petal, the flame dropped onto Moka’s face.
She jerked back with a curse, brushing it off onto the ground. Raising her staff with both hands, she brought the butt down onto it hard enough to leave a half sphere indent in the vines. The flame splattered as much as extinguished.
Out in the glade, thousands of sparks explored, searching for fuel. Thankfully, Moka seemed immune. Azarus would bet it was because she used her blood to make the grenades.
As that thought crossed his mind, Azarus relaxed, leaning back against the ashen bark of his painted tree. Emerald and gold leaves shimmered overhead like a dragon’s hoard. He felt tension ease from his shoulders.
[Boon of the Archmage] explained the [Faefire]. The descriptions said magic would run through her veins. Taken at face value, she would also bleed magic. [Create Blueprint] had not accounted for her blood’s potency. The result was an imperfect synergy between the Skill and Boon. It was something to watch out for.
Azarus idly scratched Zag on the forehead, watching the [Faefire] spread in the mirror. It was an unpredictable element. It would not do his will, spreading through nature to prey on minds. Left uncontrolled, it might kill innocents and cause him to fail the Trail. In a way, it was a consequence of his own thirst for new and exciting experiences. With the facade of gambling put aside, that was the true reason he chose [Explosives Expert]. The other two sounded predictable.
The mercenary perceptive in Azarus shifted, showing him a world where he was free of blame. The screens put him here and set him challenges to overcome. Any resulting casualties from his efforts to arm his champion were not his to shoulder. If he was bereft of control, he was free of guilt. Except, he could exert control.
For a moment, Azarus wrestled with it. To lose a piece of himself was an enormous price to pay. Perspectives, stances, and arguments ran through his mind. The worthiness of the cause was dubious. He knew nothing about the locale. It was also too early in the run to be investing pieces of himself. The [Faefire] could burn out without causing damage.
With every argument, his mind turned to what he felt was right. Conflicted, he turned to his companion.
“What do you think, Zag? Is the fire my responsibility?”
The hound did not respond immediately. He yawned, gold-tinted teeth gleaming. Taking a deep stretch, he stood up from where he was curled next to Azarus. With a light shake, he trotted over to the mirror. His black nose wiggled in the white and gold fur around the end of his muzzle as he inspected the scene.
Azarus leaned forward, scratching his stubble. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the hound sniff the glade through the mirror. Scent was something he could sense through the mirror, but it was difficult and muted for him.
Zag went alert, his tail stiffening like a warning flag. He lowered his body, taking a ready stance. Half closing his eyes, Zag took a deep breath through his nostrils. He savored it for a moment, holding it in as he took another. After a second, his ears perked, tail loosening. Exhaling with a thunderous sneeze, Zag turned to Azarus with a cheerful grin.
The mirror stretched as Moka made the wise decision to flee the scene. Part of its focus split to follow her, another remaining on the burning, yet unburning glade.
Moka pushed through the back curtain of her crafting cave. She climbed down a section of vine into a shallow ravine. One end of the ravine led to a crack in the earth that oozed oily darkness. The surrounding area was bare of vines. The other direction held a small climb, followed by a sea of vines and forest as far as the eye could see.
With a grunt, Moka hefted her rucksack, and headed straight forward, toward a steep slope. She stopped after a few steps, checked her bandolier to make sure the grenades were secure, and then attached her staff to the side of the bag with a few loose straps. Before her, the slope slanted out of sight. The vine ceiling made it impossible to see the top from where Moka stood. Taking a second to stick a cluster of flowers in her pocket, Moka resecured her bag and grabbed a handful of vines.
Taking a deep breath, Moka did a quick hop and pulled herself up the slope. To her surprise, she was stronger than she thought she was. She pulled herself up too hard and slammed her face into a vine cover boulder. With a yelp, she slid down the slope, nursing her bruised nose.
In the glade, the wind changed. The violet flames flickered, shrinking as if the fresh winds posed a threat. In the dark shadows of the forest, beyond the glade, a fallen tree moved. Ripping free of the vines holding it to the ground and punching through the ceiling, it stood up as if reversing its fall. The tree itself was unusual. Spread and branching, it was like two twin trees that had grown in different directions from the base. Or a tree that survived and thrived after being split by lightning. Vines hung off the branches like green waterfalls.
Near the resurrecting tree, a healthy tree, straight as an arrow, trembled. The vines around its trunk shook. Branches fell from the tree like falling snow. With a groan, the base of the tree snapped, the trunk lifting straight up in utter defiance of gravity. The tree set itself back down with care, shaking free of the vines to reveal a cloven hoof.
The dead tree had gone above and beyond the vine ceiling, not leaving a hole behind. The cloven hoof pressed into the forest floor. Vines spread from where it touched, growing in a circle in a wave of plant matter. Another tree sized leg swung out of the depths of the forest, settling a giant’s pace closer to the glade. Something moved in the far distance.
Like a giant tiptoeing through a glass forest, the legs approached, shrinking by half with each step. By the fifth step, a twenty-foot elk, clad in vines like a king’s robes, strode its land. By the time it reached the glade, it was Moka’s height at the shoulder. There was a mass of dense vines where its face should be. It had clusters of blue flowers for eyes.
Those flowers took in the bodies being consumed by [Faefire]. The crawling sparks, from those delving in the dirt to those reaching for the vine ceiling, shivered. As one, they fled back toward the flames that birthed them.
Azarus used [Divine Insight] on the creature.
[Guardian Spirit of the Vinewood]: The soul of an [Elven Forest] brought to life by centuries of absorbed magic and generations of worship.
The [Guardian Spirit] twitched, its flower eyes searching the glade. It studied the violet pyres. Not finding what it sought, it tilted its head to examine the air. Flowers bloomed and died on its antlers as it swung its head, searching.
Less than two hundred feet away, Moka perked upright, sensing something. She jumped to her feet, forgetting her unfamiliar strength and throwing herself up the slope with unbridled passion. Azarus applauded her survival instincts, even if they would not help. She could never outrun the forest itself. If the [Guardian Spirit] tried to punish her for her transgression, she would be helpless on her own.
Zag was running happy circles in front of the spirit’s image. His tail was a blur. Standing up, he placed his paws on the mirror, one black and one white. He let out a playful yip, shifting his weight back and forth to bounce against the mirror. Azarus felt his skin prickle as the mirror flexed.
The [Guardian Spirit’s] flower eyes locked onto an empty spot in the air. Its image in the mirror stared directly at Zag. It snorted, the sound true to an elk despite its vine features. Pawing the ground with a hoof, it shook its antlers in Zag’s direction. The hound’s tail slowed, then stopped.
Zag pushed off the mirror, putting all four paws on the clouds. He sniffed the elk, then sneezed in disdain. Half-turning, he treated Azarus to a pleading expression, his wide emerald eyes dewy. He looked emotionally wounded the [Guardian Spirit] did not want to play. Azarus suppressed a smile, shrugging. It seemed his companion shared the godly desire to push back when challenged.
Permission received, Zag stared at the [Guardian Spirit], puffing his chest. The white hair on his chest and up his throat burned looked like flames moving in slow motion. The air in the hall stilled, as if afraid to move. His black coat moved like living ink. Zagrus shed the illusion of mundanity and barked.
The mirror shimmered. Azarus braced himself against the tree, riding out a wave of clouds emanating from Zag. The [Guardian Spirit] stepped back, as if resisting an attack. Moka missed a handhold, tumbling down the slope several feet before catching herself. The spirit shook its antlers. Moka frantically checked her bandolier of grenades.
The ambient sound of the forest ceased. The light retreated, shadows lengthening. Throughout the forest, brilliant patches of blue flowers lit up. The [Guardian Spirit] stood in darkness, dots of light shining in every direction like a starfield. Flower-eyes bright, it tilted its head back, bugling through tight packed vines. Flowers spread out from it in every direction as the vines of the forest sprouted flowers in unison. The [Faefire] vanished as if it never existed. Moka froze as flowers grew from between her fingers and her world turned blue.
Azarus made to stand. The [Faefire] was gone, but his situation was unchanged. Moka’s success required his action. His mind flashed through potential tacts. The [Guardian Spirit] seemed intent on measuring strength. That left out smoothing things over. In the background of his thoughts was a constant stream of arguments, discussing the worthiness of this cause.
Zag looked at Azarus and whined. He gave his tail a hopeful wag. Azarus hesitated, torn. Allowing the hound to continue handling negotiations was not a bad idea, but Azarus longed to act. That had not changed. He wished to touch the world and influence it. Himself, not by proxy. Ethereal gold flames lit in the depths of his gaze.
An ocean of ashes flashed through Azarus’s mind, the edges of the image smoldering gray. The flames in his eyes extinguished. He settled back down, touching the painting of Kuscal on his breast. The god nodded at his companion, gracing him with a cheeky grin. The hound had better make it look good. If everything went well, he would wear this moment as a badge of pride.
Zagrus met Azarus’s eyes, giving him a serious nod. His eyes were like burning emeralds. The border of gold fur between the black and white of his coat looked molten. Starting from deep in his chest, his essence vibrated. Azarus took a deep breath, settling back down. He trusted his companion to act on his behalf.