Azarus sat with his back against his tree, Zag’s head resting in his lap. He stroked the hound’s fur as he watched Moka and Carwen journey toward the goblin raider’s encampment. There was not much to do except sit with his thoughts. He mulled over things, turning over ideas and experiences in his head, looking for connections.
Carwen led Moka through the forest, taking game trails and guiding them around dangerous areas. Moka followed, quietly testing [Condensate]. She wore a thoughtful expression, just shy of brooding.
The urge to use [Through Mortal Eyes] rose in Azarus. He desired to smell the forest, to feel the nervous excitement of a coming conflict. With ruthless precision, he squashed that part of himself, pushing it down into his subconscious. Escape called to him like a drug. He could not allow it to take root.
Closing his eyes, Azarus leaned his head back against the tree. Emerald and gold leaves rustled overhead. It was a minor comfort. An imitation of the outside world he created for that very purpose. His perspective shifted, painting Zagrus as something he also created for his comfort. He held that thought in his mind With vivid detail, he imagined the thought gaining life and intelligence, much as he, a concept, had. It understood its error as he burned it. He did not wish to regard his companion that way.
[Through Mortal Eyes] had shown him how different he was from a mortal. He had complete control over himself, down to his very thoughts. One day soon, when he claimed his domain, that control would extend to the concept beneath his purview. And he was close to that moment. He could feel it. Once he understood himself in his entirety, he would know who he was. He felt the key was in his tri-color flame.
Gray, emerald, and gold. Of the three, he understood gold the least. Gray he used best, leveraging sacrifice and exploitation to his advantage. His emerald flames were illusive, altering chance in his favor. However, he was hesitant to call it Luck. Luck was a two-sided coin, and he seemed to only flip heads.
Gold remained the sticking point. He knew he had some relation to a phoenix from Moka’s impression of him. Perhaps there was a connection there, a thread leading to and from his least understood parts of himself. He knew from his domain’s reactions that gold represented, in part, courage and standing up when confronted. How courage equated to rebirth, he did not know.
The god’s thoughts turned to Carwen, the newest addition in what he suspected would be a long line of potential [Followers]. Looking back, Azarus wondered if Granon was the first temptation toward purchasing that specific Unlock, like how Carwen appeared to be an advertisement for [Bloodline]. It made a certain sick sense. The screens knew him well enough to present mortals that reacted to his domain.
Azarus envisioned a future where he had met a thousand Granons, leaving them each in the past as he dragged Moka through the Trials. That future stretched like an endless corridor, filled with loss and scarred, calloused wounds. He let out a breath, his closed eyelids fluttering. With a thought, he banished the vision.
The future would come, and he would face it as himself, whoever he may be when he got there.
Opening his eyes a crack, Azarus watched Carwen guide Moka. There was something about her that resonated with his domain, specifically the gold aspect. She was brave, yes. Anyone who would venture alone into the forest with an overly hostile goblin, when there were goblin raiders about, could only be described by a variation of brave. Yet, Azarus did not see bravery, he saw fear.
Her refreshed [Autumn Pixie] illusion showed her as confident. She turned her back to Moka and weaved through the forest without a care. But it could only hide so much. Through the displaced image, Azarus caught glimpses of her chewing her lip and clutching her skirts. When he peered through the illusion, he saw a wary woman. She kept one eye on the forest, as if expecting a pack of wolves to appear at any moment. The other lingered on Moka, untrusting of Azarus’s champion. He did not fault her for it.
In fact, he felt somewhat relieved. She seemed to have a sensible head on her shoulders. He saw a piece of himself in her. She charged headlong into danger to escape a gilded cage, and he would do the same. The reflection caused him a measure of worry. The fact she was here, rather than anyone else, had chilling implications for the screens’ level of control and understanding. He felt the itch, that desperate desire to lash out in any direction to gain some semblance of freedom. Two peas in a pod, he and this mortal. Trapped and yearning to sprout.
The god turned his attention to his champion, who was actively pursuing her persistent dislike of the elf. She had figured out how to use [Condensate] to gather drops of water on the tips of her claws. When Carwen wasn’t looking, she would flick droplets in the general area she suspected the elf was. He watched her childish antics, trying to peer into her mind through the mirror.
What he saw was someone angry at the world and themselves, unable to come to grips with reality and adapt to it. This behavior did not represent him. A frown tugged at his lips. He wanted to let Moka grow as she would, only nudging her occasionally. If she overcame her challenges herself, she would be stronger for it. He felt like he was being drawn in against his better judgment.
The god spoke from where he sat, reclined against a painted tree, idly petting his hound. He did not vibrate his essence, speaking the words as if speaking to the empty hall.
“You promised to change.”
Moka’s ear twitched. She turned her head as if trying to better hear a whisper in the wind. Ahead of her, Carwen shot back a glare, both her and her illusion wiping off a bead of moisture from her neck. Azarus took that moment to speak again, his voice carrying expectation and a hint of disappointment.
“You represent me.”
Moka frowned, sniffing the air. Treating Carwen with an apologetic shrug and a sheepish grin, she tilted her head, pounding her palm against her ear canal like she was trying to dislodge water. When the elf did not immediately drop the issue, Moka spoke up.
“Sorry. I-” Azarus’s champion hesitated. She glanced over her shoulder, as if she felt someone watching her. Making eye contact with Carwen, she half-shrugged before stopping herself. “It won’t happen again. I was practicing magic.”
The [Village Beauty] cocked an eyebrow at her. Moka looked away, casually wiping her watery hand on her slacks. She coughed, her cheeks flushing.
“And being mean.”
Carwen’s arched eyebrow raised a fraction more before she relented. Tossing her autumn hair over her shoulder with one hand, she shot Moka one more look before resuming their journey.
“You certainly were.”
Azarus watched his champion open her mouth to retort, before thinking better of it and swallowing the comment. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, feeling pleased. It was a small interaction, but it felt meaningful. Although, he could not exactly claim to be an expert on meaningful interactions. He had few to call his own.
The two mortals traveled without incident as Azarus sat with his thoughts and his hound. Before long, they stumbled across a patrol of three goblins. Azarus welcomed the conflict, sinking into himself as he observed it. He felt for the minute changes in his domain as the scene played out, focusing on understanding what connected Carwen to the gold.
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Similar to the three earlier goblins, each of the three wore once-fine clothing. Silk and satin were as good as rags in their possession, for all they wore them with pride. Two were armed with iron-tipped spears, silk scarves tied near the bladed tips. The remaining goblin carried a chain, rags stuffed into the links to keep it quiet.
They ambled through the forest, their disciplined silence at odds with their casual attitude. Using hand signs, they wandered around, searching high and low. The goblin with the chain was sneaking bites out of a piece of honeycomb as they walked. One of the spear bearers nibbled on a handful of nuts.
Moka heard the trio before Carwen saw them. She hissed through her teeth, pressing herself against a tree and gesturing to Carwen to join her. Carwen hesitated, but made a gesture with her hand to dismiss her illusion. She pressed herself next to Moka as her true body shimmered back into visibility.
“What is it?”
Moka hushed her, pressing down on the air with the flat of her hand. She leaned around the tree, carefully edging past it to see beyond. After remaining motionless for several heartbeats, she retreated. Keeping her voice low, she mapped out a quick plan.
“Small patrol. Perfect for us. We go out together, threaten and bargain.”
Moka watched Carwen’s face. When she saw the other woman heard her and understood, she moved to step out from behind the tree, revealing herself. Carwen grabbed her elbow, pulling her back as she sank into a crouch.
“Are you crazy? Even if you can fight them, it will draw in others!”
Shaking Carwen’s hand off her arm, Moka brushed her away. She sighed, pressing her palm against her forehead like she was dealing with an idiot. Carwen glared at her like she was trying to bore holes into the goblin. After a second, Moka held up her fist toward the elf. She raised her index finger.
“We need to approach the Warlord if we don’t want to fight everyone.” She raised another finger. “If we go to the camp by ourselves, then we are enemies. We need something to ease our entry and buy an audience.”
Raising a third finger, Moka wiggled them in front of Carwen’s face, then used them to point at the tree, gesturing to the goblins on the other side. Carwen let out a breath, her hands clenched into fists in her skirts. Drawing herself up to her full height from a crouch, she deliberately unclenched her hands and patted her skirts. Looking down as she adjusted her clothing, the elf spoke.
“I do not know what I did to offend you, but please do not speak down to me. All I needed was a simple explanation.”
A flush ran across Moka’s cheeks. She looked away as the [Village Beauty] composed herself. Distancing herself, she peered around the tree, monitoring the goblin patrol’s movements. When she turned back, satisfied that the patrol was moving slowly, she came face to face with a prim and proper Carwen, all traces of frustration gone.
Moka’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to say something, but cut herself off, taking a glance over her shoulder. Shaking her head, she looked down, then back up. Her shoulders slumped. She spoke in a slow whisper, as if it was physically painful to be vulnerable.
“My village was destroyed. By humans. It is nothing personal, just-”
Carwen arched an eyebrow at the goblin, cutting her off. Her face betrayed no genuine emotion. She whispered back in a fiery tone.
“Just what? You just mistook me for a human when we first met, and now treat me like I had a hand in your village’s destruction. I have heard the gods are petty. It seems you share that trait.”
Azarus watched as his champion visibly bristled at Carwen’s words. She went from contrite to combative in a matter of heartbeats. The god watched his goblin struggle with her anger, even as he regarded her companion. Carwen could have deescalated the situation. He agreed that Moka’s apology was more an excuse than anything, but it was a start to build on. The [Faeborn Elf] had not cared, responding with figurative swords drawn.
He felt a resonance in his domain with this small act of defiance. It was there, like a ripple gaining traction, as real as it was when Moka stared down the skinwalker. There was something more than courage here. Courage, moving beyond fear, was the base it built on.
As quick as it came, the moment was gone. Moka grabbed the reins of her anger, bringing it to heel. She shot a glance in the last direction she saw the patrol.
“Can we do this later? If they find us first…”
Moka trailed off, leaving the incomplete thought for Carwen to finish. The elf, possessing a vivid imagination, paled. She nodded.
“Fine, but I expect to finish this conversation at the nearest opportune moment.”
Moka rolled her eyes, but did not refute the statement. Her hands darted to her belt and bandolier, double checking everything was in place. Carwen’s pointed ears, sticking out of her autumn hair, twitched. The patrol was close enough for her to hear their steps. Taking one last look around the tree, Moka sidled out into the open, a grenade in hand.
Moka coughed into her fist when the goblins did not catch sight of her after a few breaths, her [Elven Heartwood Breastplate] helping her blend into the trees. The patrol pulled up short, flashing a quick series of hand signs to each other before spreading out. Carwen stepped out beside Moka and they froze. The chain wielding goblin split into a grin. He waved a hand at Moka.
“Hello, friend. You want to join the tribe? Brought a gift?”
Carwen side-eyed Moka, wary of a betrayal. Moka ignored her, tossing the grenade in her hand up and down. She treated the goblin who spoke with an unpleasant smile.
“I have a gift, but only if you don’t do as I say. Take us to your chieftain. I want to talk.”
The three goblins shared a glance. One by one, they shrugged. The speaker turned to address Moka. The other two eyed Carwen, continuing to flank the women. Moka snapped her fingers toward one of the moving goblins, sending a spark flying in his direction. It fell into the grass, fizzling out before making it halfway. They stopped, eyeing the grenade in her hand warily.
“The boss would love to talk to you. Very pretty.” The goblin with the chains waggled his eyebrows at her. His attention shifted to what she held, his demeanor growing serious. “What do you have?”
Moka’s grin was closer to a snarl as she held up the grenade, showing it off. She watched the three goblins with dark satisfaction, as if daring them to make a move.
“This? It’s a fireball in a bottle. My god sent me. He thought I might need to rain down destruction.”
The goblin hesitated, the two beside him stiffening. He sniffed the air, tilting his head to examine the grenade from different angles. A frown crept across his face. He jabbed a claw at Moka.
“You’re lying.”
Moka shrugged, casually making another spark. She gestured to herself and Carwen next to her.
“Why would we show ourselves if we weren’t confident? Either way, take us to your chieftain.”
The three goblins shared another look. Azarus saw one spear bearer make a hand sign that was clear to interpret. “Kill them.” The other shrugged, looking unbothered by the grenade or taking the pair to their chieftain. The chain wielder took in their suggestions before replying.
“Give us your weapons. We’ll take you.”
Moka outright laughed at him, her voice mocking. She did not bother to dignify the suggestion with a response. The goblin grit his teeth, looking to the spear bearers for reassurance. What he saw made him shrug, the irritation bleeding out of him.
“Fine, fireball or no fireball. The boss will deal with it. Come on.”
The chain wielder turned to leave, the spear bearers hanging back and to the sides. Carwen took a step to follow him, but Moka thrust an arm out, keeping her in place. The goblin made it ten paces before turning around. He had an impatient frown on his face as he waved them to follow. Moka did not keep her eyes off the other two.
“You all walk together. We will follow right behind.”
The goblin shook his head, pointing at the grenade in her hand.
“Too dangerous. You could take us all at once.”
He may as well have been arguing with a stone wall. Moka hefted the grenade in her hand, priming it to light and throw.
“Either do it, or the next patrol will not question if it is a fireball or not.”
The goblin grimaced, glancing at the spear bearers as if judging the distance between them and Moka. By all appearances, he did not like their odds of getting to her before she lit the fuse. The occasional sparks Moka shot in their direction gave credence to her claims of being able to produce fire. He made a discreet hand sign toward the other two members of his patrol, causing them to fall in line.
“Alright, come on. Can’t wait to see you meet the boss.”
There was a viscous spark of glee in the goblin’s eye as he left his last statement hanging in the air. As one, the trio of goblins turned and headed in a straight line toward a near slope. Moka held Carwen back for a moment before they followed, subtly passing her a flower. It vanished into thin air, reappearing in Carwen’s hands. Carwen gasped as she saw what was.
“Where did you-”
Moka hushed her, hurrying to follow their escort.
“Doesn’t matter. Seems useful, so have some.”
Azarus leaned back as the group headed toward the goblin camp. There would be a confrontation. He knew it as well as he knew himself. His domain thrummed with promise. He sank into the feeling, watching the events play out in the mirror. His champion walked into the lion’s den, a bleating lamb at her side, with every intention of walking out victorious on the other side. Gold flames licked off his skin. That was more than courage. It was an aspect of him, and he would understand it.