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Yaz
Yaz admired the nymphly escapades in the glade for a few minutes, grinning, and not just because that was his only facial expression. “Ah, to be of the flesh again.”
Even now, after more than a thousand years in his current state, he still felt a twinge of bitterness at the loss of his flesh. While he was still capable of engaging in activities with the opposite sex, it wasn’t quite the same playing the game without all of his original equipment. He’d chased down plenty of nymphs in his time, even as an undead magical construct. But at the moment, he wasn’t quite as driven to do so as Arwin was.
He swept the spark of bitterness from his heart but noted once again that it increasingly lingered in the back of his thoughts, as it had done more and more over the past few years. He couldn’t help but be bothered by the change.
In his early undeath, he’d struggled with the loss of his fleshy form and had raged against the misfortune and evilness that had forced this on him. But, as adaptable as we all are, he’d eventually adjusted to being a skeleton and largely made peace with it. Most of the time, it didn’t bother him. There was a period in every long-term relationship with women that he longed for muscle and skin, but he eventually got over that and lived and loved as normally as anyone else.
Yet, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he’d recently grown more negative and found his thoughts drifting all too often to wishing that he could be a real boy once more. It was unhealthy and had led to troubling bouts of depression. Honestly, these changing feelings had been a large part of his desire to leave Mistial and to search for Epheria once more, a response to a deep longing for the past.
Perhaps he was just getting old.
Meandering away from the glade, he explored the local forest, looking for a quiet place to lie down and nap. Being undead, he didn’t really need sleep and often went without it, but for some reason, it still refreshed him when he chose to indulge. Perhaps it was some kind of emotional holdover from when he’d been properly alive.
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He found a bed of old pine needles in a crevice created by a pair of very large roots and nestled in amongst them. He had no eyelids to close, but the thought of doing so dimmed his vision as if he had. As he rested, his thoughts drifted.
This Arwin fellow was interesting. A man from Drearia! That was rare, indeed, these days. Arwin seemed young at heart, playful, and generally cheery. But Yaz could see bouts of darkness cross his features every now and then. Yaz empathized with the wounds of heartbreak and depression, and he admired Arwin’s battle to overcome them.
He felt a little worried about allowing the young man to join him on this dangerous adventure. However, surely Arwin would be safer in Yaz’s company than wandering alone. With a complete lack of understanding and wariness of Heartstone’s creatures and environment, leaving Arwin to his own devices in the wild would be akin to allowing a toddler to wander a battlefield. Sooner or later, blood would be spilled.
So far, Arwin seemed like a solid individual, trustworthy and capable. At least, that was the vibe he’d gotten. There are instances when we meet people where we seem to click together right away, like the right puzzle pieces finding each other, and fast friendship evolves. This felt like one of those times.
He heard a gentle rustle from the forest floor and opened his magical eyes a crack but saw nothing and closed them again.
He needed to think of a plan for confronting the Dark Enchantress. Sneak in? Highly unlikely it would be possible. Surely she had magical wards up and guards of some kind. Her predecessor had been welcoming enough, though not to the degree that she’d allowed him to search her property. The Dark Enchantress, however, had a very villainous reputation. Surely she’d respond harshly if he and Arwin were foolish enough to simply knock on the front door. So what were they supposed to do?
Something large and heavy landed on Yaz’s body. Air would have flown from his lungs if he’d still had those organs.
His eyes flew open.
A grinning, dark-green hobgoblin lay atop him, trapping Yaz on the ground. Hobgoblins are larger and much stronger versions of common goblins. They are human-sized as opposed to a child-sized goblin, though they are not as strong as muscle-bound orcs. Calmer and more intelligent than the smaller goblins they often command, these vile creatures revel in causing pain. This particular hobgoblin wore armour of ragged, mixed leathers, probably looted from his victims. He carried no weapon, putting his weight on both hands to keep Yaz’s arms pinned to the pine needles. The hobgoblin grunted in triumph.
Several smaller green goblins appeared, scrambling over the tree roots and swarming down atop Yaz. These creatures were mostly less than a meter tall, scraggly and scrawny, with sharp teeth and long, pointed ears. Their skin was beset by warts and scars, and they wore only fur or leather loincloths or went naked. They were armed with spears, clubs, and stone or wood knives.
Yaz tried to fight but could do nothing while pinned. He growled and opened his mouth to call out in warning.
A goblin managed to get behind his head and strung a rough rope between his open jaws to gag him. A burlap sack came down over his skull. Then he was bound to the tree roots around him with more rope and covered with what felt like needles and branches and forest detritus.
He started to wonder what their plan for him was. Then he heard the goblins quietly moving off in the direction of the nymph glade.
Damn!
He fought to break free of his bindings. He had to hurry.