Moka ducked around the trunk of a tree, shooting a resentful glance over her shoulder at the elf following too close to lose, and too far to stab. Carwen graced her with a winning smile. The goblin grunted. They continued in tenuous silence.
Azarus watched as Carwen used [Summon: Minor Spirit] to conjure a sprite in her hand, shielding the motion from Moka. She brought her hand to her face like she was wiping her nose. Whispering something in the sprite’s ear, she flicked her wrist, making it vanish. Azarus studied the distortion where the sprite lingered.
[Autumn Pixie]: A minor spirit from the Fae realm who manipulates light and shadows to create illusions.
Carwen followed a few steps behind Moka, using her long legs and local knowledge to keep pace as the goblin irregularly switched directions. The elf had a knack for moving gracefully. Rounding another tree, Moka clutched her staff to her chest and dropped to three limbs. She darted through a small gap in a thorny bush. Carwen followed her without hesitation, weaving through the thorns like she was dodging eager suitors, leaving her fine silk skirts untouched.
Emerging from the bush, the elf on her tail, Moka swung an irritable claw in her direction. Carwen’s winning smile never faded as she stepped out of the bush, none the worse for wear. Moka’s claw passed through her side, causing her form to shimmer and move a hand span to the side. Undeterred, Moka’s hands shot out to catch her, her ruby eyes glinting as she rose to the challenge.
Carwen danced out of Moka’s grasp, not letting her illusion to be tested again. After another swipe, Moka stopped. She stared at Carwen, her nose twitching.
The air was heavy, like a thunderhead on the verge of rain. The [Explosives Expert’s] hand twitched toward her bandolier. Carwen’s smile switched to a scowl in a flash, her body tensing as [Read the Room] pinged her. She leveled a manicured nail at her unwilling travel companion.
“Stop that. Look at you, turning to violence at the slightest inconvenience. You are an adult with responsibilities, so act like one.”
Moka’s eyes hardened, her jaw firming into a line. Her hand rested on a grenade, her ears on a swivel, listening for footsteps. Carwen threw her hands in the air.
“Can you not see yourself? Now you want to do it because I told you not to. How contrarian. I bet your god is proud of you.”
Azarus let out a low whistle. The [Faeborn Elf] seemed equally willing to open wounds as Moka, although she preferred an uncommon weapon. Her tongue was as sharp as any dagger, relentlessly seeking a weakness. It made Azarus wonder if she was using [Read the Room] to get under his champion’s skin.
Moka hissed at the taller woman, baring her sharp teeth. Carwen crossed her arms in response, rolling her eyes at her display. She tapped her foot, the picture of an impatient adult waiting for a child to overcome a tantrum.
Moka hesitated. She sensed she would somehow lose the exchange if she continued to escalate the violence. Carwen did not wait for her to gather her thoughts or emotions, continuing to prod her.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Moka snapped back, anger coloring her voice.
“Shut up! Stop following me! I didn’t kill you, so why won’t you just leave me alone?”
Carwen pursed her cherry red lips, staring at Moka like she had found an indecipherable puzzle. Her autumn curls bounced on her shoulders as she shifted her weight.
Azarus scratched his stubble, wondering if he would need to be wary of Moka around elves in the future. He suspected she was merely lashing out, angry at herself and anything who resembled the one who betrayed her.
The [Village Beauty] let Moka’s outburst hang in the air. She cocked her head to the side, as if trying to understand it. Moka grew visibly agitated as the silence stretched. Just as Azarus thought the situation would turn for the worse, the elf spoke.
“Truly, I understand you consider me a burden.” She gestured toward Moka, then herself. “I would be the first to admit we make odd bedfellows, and the last to expect this.”
Carwen paused, like she was waiting for Moka to interject. The goblin waited with silent expectation, her hand still resting near her bandolier. Carwen smiled nervously, her eyelashes fluttering. Swallowing, she continued.
“Perhaps we are similar in childishness. I cannot return home, nor can I wander into the forest alone.” Meeting Moka’s unwavering gaze, Carwen glanced down, looking at her feet. She shuffled from side to side. After a few seconds, she met Moka’s eyes once again, her mouth twisted like she swallowed something sour. “The truth is, I was raised sheltered from the world. I wish to live, not just survive. Do you understand?”
Moka snorted, letting her hand drop. She gave the elf a disdainful look, skewering her with a judgemental gaze.
“I see a pup, too scared to venture from the den. You are afraid and want to hide behind the nearest skirts. I understand well enough.” Moka’s next words dripped venom. “For a goblin.”
Carwen lightly coughed, covering her mouth with her fist. Her cheeks flushed red, fading back to normal with deceptive speed.
“That’s one way to phrase it, yes. Every species has their strength.” She schooled her face, letting it slide up into an easy, familiar smile. “But I can help! I know the forest! You are going to go fight the other goblins, right?”
Moka returned the smile with a frown. She raised an eyebrow at the elf.
“Why would I do that?”
Carwen’s smile faltered, then brightened, forcibly. Azarus squinted at the screen, examining the minor shift in light in the [Autumn Sprite’s] illusion. The false image’s hands were resting at her side, lips curved in an amused smirk. The true Carwen bore a nervous expression, her hands tangled in her skirts, knuckles white. She looked like a flustered housewife trying to reason with a tiger.
“Well, you’re here to do something for the hopeless, right?” Carwen’s plaintive tone was at odds with her illusion’s more relaxed appearance. “The raiders camped nearby and are attacking my village like they’re going down to the local market to grab dinner. Our nearest neighbor is fifty miles away.”
Moka’s mouth twisted. She leaned over to spit, before thinking better of it. With a deep sigh, she turned on her heel and wandered further through the forest. She kept an easy pace, no longer trying to lose Carwen. With a small sigh of relief, caught by Moka’s keen ears, Carwen rushed to catch up, drawing shoulder to shoulder with the goblin.
They continued in silence for several minutes. Moka was the first to break it.
“Maybe the goblins are hopeless.”
Carwen reacted before she remembered who she was speaking to, turning to Moka with a large grin.
“Hah! You-” Carwen met Moka’s stone faced stare and stumbled over her words. She bit back what she was about to say. Despite the effort, her true feelings leaked through. ”Um. Well, sure, I guess their wrists might hurt from cutting down those who fought back. Or their backs might ache from carrying away our livelihoods. Your god must have sensed their pleas.”
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Moka’s unblinking gaze reflected her burning village, as red as spilled blood. Her ears flushed. She turned away from the elf, unable to keep a snarl off her face.
“Trust an elf to think goblins should die for being goblins.”
Carwen stopped walking. The sudden change caused Moka to pivot on her heel, turning to face the elf, her staff in hand. The [Village Beauty] pulled herself up to her full height, staring down her nose at the goblin. Her purple and red, sunset eyes simmered with contained anger.
“Project your hatred onto someone else, oh divine champion.” Carwen’s smile was fragile, like broken glass with sharp edges. “My village is a place of exile for half-elves. Green skin, blue skin, fur, or scales. I have no issue with the station of one’s birth. These goblins are not the innocents you imagine them to be.”
The heat did not leave Moka’s eyes, but she did not refute Carwen’s words. Azarus and Zag shared a dubious look. Carwen clearly had more prejudice than she claimed, but Moka was no saint by comparison. Zag whined. Azarus shrugged at the hound. She was here, following a goblin despite being hounded by the same. The same went for Moka, who had not killed her in cold blood. Actions mattered, and a slight improvement was better than none.
Moka opened her mouth to retort. Azarus could see the moment she remembered the three goblins she left on the forest floor, her face scrunching like she had tasted something disgusting. Her expression cooled, but did not reach the realm of pleasant. She sighed and shrugged.
“Fine. What’s your name?”
Carwen, balanced on the balls of her feet to run at the drop of a hat, blinked owlishly. Her head tilted to the side, bringing her shorter, pointed ear to face Moka like she had misheard her.
“Excuse me?”
Moka smiled, her teeth sharp and unwelcoming. There was no humor or affection in her gaze.
“Don’t worry, little elf. I will grant your wish.”
Azarus watched as Carwen reacted with the expected shock and confusion. The girl was growing on him. She was good for Moka, questioning her and not backing down. Like iron sharpening iron. Nervously clutching her skirts beneath her illusion, the [Village Beauty] answered Moka’s earlier question, her mind miles away.
“My name is Carwen Vinesong. Everyone in the village has the same surname. What’s yours?” Her clouded gaze sharpened as her mind caught up with her mouth. She took a step. “My wish? I-”
Moka’s hand shot out, grasping a piece of air. Carwen yelped as her illusion shimmered and faded. Moka’s grip tightened on her elbow. Her grin had a manic edge.
“Yes, Carwen, your wish.” She tugged on Carwen’s arm, causing her to stumble forward. Maintaining the momentum, Moka led her through the forest by the arm. “Let’s go meet these goblins. I will speak to them myself.”
A shudder ran through Carwen as she used [Read the Room]. She did her best to keep her facial muscle under control now her cover was gone, but the slight furrow in her brow spoke volumes. Her long legs ate the ground beneath her as she matched Moka’s pace, keeping the goblin from pulling her faster unless she broke into a run.
“Oh! Yes, of course.” Carwen was the picture of politeness, laying her free hand over Moka’s. They almost looked like lovers, arm in arm, out for a stroll. “I heard the hunters talking. The raiding party claimed a nearby peak. I can take you most of the way and-”
Zag nudged Azarus’s hand with his wet nose. Azarus sighed as he watched his champion. This turn of events did not represent him. He retrieved a gold coin from his pocket. He ran it along his knuckles for a moment, then flicked it to the hound, who deftly snatched it out of the air. There was no kindness in Moka’s eyes as she interrupted Carwen’s nervous babble.
“You will walk by my side, straight into the wyvern’s den.”
While Carwen had clear practice schooling her expression, hiding anger and disgust behind a beautiful mask. Obscuring her fear was beyond her. The muscles around her eyes tightened. Tense lines appeared at the edges of her lips. She let out a nervous laugh. It echoed through the trees like wind chimes.
“Ah, surely you jest.” She patted Moka’s hand, trying to angle her arm out of her grasp. “Their warlord desires me as a trophy. Staying out of their hands has been no minor effort. Lives were lost.”
Moka let her hand drop, releasing Carwen. The elf took several steps back and to the side. Her form shimmered. Plucking her utility knife from her belt, sheathe and all, Moka tossed it to an empty patch of air to her left. The knife vanished, appearing in Carwen’s hands a few feet away. Moka addressed the empty patch.
“So live until it ends. One way or the other. No one will pay the cost but you.”
Carwen looked incredulously at the small knife in her hands, meant for cutting rope and peeling fruit. Not for fighting goblins. She thumbed open the sheathe in case she had missed something. Plain steel greeted her.
“You, uh…” Carwen looked up from inspecting the knife, a light flush coloring her cheeks. “Sorry, I did not catch your name.”
Azarus’s champion watched a patch of empty grass, like a snake waiting to strike. Her reply was as much a grunt as a word.
“Moka.”
Carwen blinked, taking several seconds to parse the sound. She mouthed the word, feeling it out. Azarus thought she was buying time to gather her thoughts. He did not fault her for it. Moka was being far more combative than she had last run. He wondered if it was because she no longer had a Moderate gift of Reason.
Carwen gave herself a firm nod, then dismissed her [Autumn Sprite] with a wave of her hand. The spirit, bending light nearby, popped out of existence, returning home. Carwen’s image dispersed, then reappeared, a fraction to the right of where Moka was staring. She took a deep breath, addressing the [Explosives Expert] with considered words.
“Moka, as sheltered as I was, I have done enough hunting to be familiar with the forest. I do not consider myself incompetent.” She gestured around them with the sheathed knife in her hand, bringing attention to it. “However, you seem to see me as either a wilting flower or an elven berserker. I confess to more the former than the latter. Do you expect me to fight a raiding party? Or to kill myself to avoid capture?”
Moka’s hard expression wavered. Despite her attempts to stay calm, Carwen’s lower lip trembled, painting her as another person at the end of their rope, searching for a way out. Azarus saw her, a mix of deliberate posturing and genuine emotions. In his eyes, she was a warrior, wielding the only weapons she had. Beauty and words. He felt an unfocused determination in her. She was fighting for something better, but she was not sure what.
The god watched emotions war with reason in his champion. He trusted she would make the right decision. However, like Granon, she needed a little push. His lost gold coin on his mind, Azarus refreshed his champion’s memory.
“Choose kindness.”
Moka twitched, her head whipping around to look behind her. A peaceful forest greeted her. She continued to scan for several heartbeats before stopping. The aggression seemed to bleed out of her, her anger fading in the face of her task. With a groan, she relaxed, reaching up to rub her neck. She gave Carwen an apologetic shrug.
“No, just come with me. Use the knife how you see fit. It’s yours now.” Moka had the grace to look away sheepishly. She cleared her throat. “If I can convince the raiders to leave your village alone, I will. I think my god would want me to.”
Carwen crossed her arms, frowning. She gave Moka a questioning look, wise enough to doubt the sudden change of heart. Leaning over, she looked behind the goblin, scanning the forest. Finding nothing, she regarded Moka for a moment, before something seemed to click. She looked up, giving a half-bow as if thanking an unseen deity.
Azarus smiled warmly, accepting the thanks. He shared a look with Zag, ruffling the hound’s ears. Maybe he just had an affinity for mortals, but at least this one knew where to direct credit.
Rising from her bow, Carwen tucked the knife into her skirts, her lips firming into her a line. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out.
“Into the wyvern’s den, indeed. An adventure I sought, and so you have cruelly delivered.” The [Village Beauty] shook her head, as if clearing out a thought.
Moka did not deign to reply, resorting to her usual shrug. Carwen gave her a weak smile, gesturing to where she stored the knife.
“Then this knife is to avoid capture, after all?”
Moka snorted, gesturing at the angry bruise forming around Carwen’s neck.
“If I would rather die than be captured, I would die fighting with my fate in my own hands.”
The [Village Beauty] huffed, leaning up and back as she brought her hand to her collarbone. If she took true offense to the comment, she hid it behind a facade. She swished her skirts in mock outrage.
“Easy enough for you to say. All teeth and claws. A blind, one-handed goblin would have me in chains before I could deal a mortal wound to anyone but myself.” Carwen subtly glanced at Moka out of the corner of her eye as she made a joke at her own expense. Tension eased out of her as she noticed the goblin’s light smirk. Her tone turned more sincere. “You want to walk into a camp with a hundred healthy ones?”
Moka nodded. She snapped her fingers, creating a spark.
“I hope they are reasonable. I do not wish to slaughter my kin.”
Carwen giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. She went through the motions, but the fear never left her eyes. Her laughter sounded hollow. The faded gold threads in Azarus’s coat gleamed as the god watched the mortal wear a brave face. Her eyes darted to Moka every time she moved, like a doe watching a supposedly friendly tiger.
The elf treated her companion with a winning smile.
“Well, okay. But we’ve been going the wrong way for a while now.”
Moka muttered a hushed string of curses beneath her breath as she gestured for Carwen to lead the way. Azarus smiled, quietly retrieving his list of bets. The odds of her becoming the new goblin warlord were low, but he was looking to win back some gold.