13th Transmission:
This figure I’ve been referring to as Coyote has been hard to sort out. They certainly have a better foundational knowledge of how this is all meant to play out than I do, but for someone with all that foresight to be so confrontational there must be part of this that’s out of their control.
I’m wondering who they’re even arguing with, or who they’re trying to convince?
Not really my place to ask though, except for the rare instances that these transmissions demand some self reflection on my part as conduit.
-The Author
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I clung to Accretio’s steepest peak, my legs dug into crevices, one arm swung around its summit, the other swinging wildly with the Baker’s Peel.
They lurched and swayed in dizzying metronomic lilts as they plucked their legs in and out of the narrow buried hallways of the goblin’s labyrinth like you would if you were walking through thick mud.
The hefty wood of my weapon did not chip or break as I managed to swipe at the muck covered green leather heads of the encroaching goblins. They were now on all sides.
Thremp had called Accretio a stubborn bitch of burden when they continued their straight course into the midst of the labyrinth. Trees snapped and Accretio bit out at whatever was in front of him as he plodded forward. Dozens of goblins came in fast and close as new exits were continuously pummeled into the roof of their dingy fortress maze.
Thremp leapt with some practiced grace, lancing our quarry with each arcing prance. He tried to use Accretio’s grand shell as a platform to dance upon, but the swaying and the jagged footing were too much. Still he leapt to and fro, bounding over one crumpled hallway to the next. His shiny thin swords skewered several heads in one thrust. His hoof skewed a landing and he toppled quickly before his composure was regained. I haranged and jabbed, swooped down and clobbered as I dipped toward the ground on either end of Thremps steps, hanging on best I could. I could not say if I ended any lives, but the commotion of Accretio’s heavy foot falls and my chaotic flailing were certainly taken advantage of by Thremp. Bodies joined the ashen pathway behind us in great number.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Accretio pressed forward.
Thremp clambered up Accretio’s right flank, breathing heavily. Miniscule daggers and sickles hung from his fur, now matted with blood. Rocks flung from slings and crusty green cooking pots still pummeled him and he climbed the bitch of burden for safety.
“We have certainly done a service for those who have been harangued by these creatures. Their numbers are depleted, their home in shambles.” Thremp spoke between pained gasps.
His eyes had gone a complete black void, and his blood – no longer red – mirrored the sudden vast void of darkness that oozed from him. The goblins, too, cried inky black rivers of tears. Their tiny limbs melted into puddles.
Things began to lose their accuity.
Meaning had begun to decay.
Tendrils shot out from the still tangible limbs that erupted from the flooded trenches of pulsing tar, latching onto what was left of Thremp. He managed a smile, and handed me one of his swords.
A soft whisper and fur brushed my cheek, “I hope this beast doesn’t know what he’s doing. If this was on purpose, you will be in no end of peril, young Elk.”
He was pulled from Accretio and into the chaos below.
A well defined ring in the middle of the woods kept the void at bay, repelling it as if a glass dome had been affixed over this small patch where trees did not grow. We stepped through and quickly slid down. This was not more of the maze, but a deep pit that had been dug wide and covered. There was shining coin and wooden lock boxes, more sharpened steel and cured flesh. A treasury of sorts.
Accretio finally stopped, and spoke, “Collect this relic, my Witness.”
I hopped down and circled to where his cavern eyes looked. It was a flat disc of rock, perhaps the size of a dinner plate, smoothed on its edges. A pale yellow picture had been crudely painted on its surface. A circle of a face drawn crudely with pointed ears, narrowed clever eyes and a mousy snout. Like a child's drawing of some animal. I touched the paint with a careful hand, curious of what it might be made of. It burned away in light blue flames I couldn’t feel. It left no trace, no ash or residue.
Accretio rumbled slowly, angling his hollow eyes at the sky. “There is another who watches. And they taunt me.”
Looking out at the path we took to get here, there were no bodies or blood or black ichor. Only pale white shards of ice or glass or something fragile and sharp. We left the choked woods, and Accretio did not eat.