Runt didn’t trust Barghest. The paw that extended to meet his and seal the deal did nothing to dissuade his distrust. Runt tended to have a feel for people. A way to read them that his way of life had honed sharply. Being at the bottom of the totem pole was not something many survived, unless you knew the others around you. Which ones would beat you for looking in their direction, which ones would hunt you down if you snatched even the smallest scraps from them. You had to learn to watch, to observe and read people if you wanted to make a living from their scraps. You had to see what they looked like when they let down their guard. When they relaxed, and when they were on high alert. Runt found the best way to read someone was to watch their gaze. Interprete how they looked at you, and how they looked at others.
What Runt saw in Barghest would have scared him from any deal, if Barghest had been a goblin. Runt could see the thinly veiled distaste, the way the hounds eyes seemed sharper when peering at him. There was a dynamic here that he had stepped in to inadvertedly. Barghest was an ambassador of his kind, an amalgamation of what they thought and believed in. For more years than Runt had lived Barghest had been hunting greenskins. Stalking them, killing them, and watching them kill his pack in turn. Runt had unknowingly stepped into that dynamic when he caught a glimpse of the spectral hound. While united around a greater enemy the tension had dropped, Runt could feel it building with every second he stood there. It was almost as though every breath he took was an insult to the beast before him.
Barghest was an intelligent being, independent and sentient in his own way, but his thoughts and morals flowed directly from those he represented. Every second the hound stood in Runt’s presence was a moment he was fighting against his own instincts. Every word spoken, every deal struck, was an annoying thorn in his side. He spoke with Runt because he thought the small goblin would be useful. Runt could see this battle within Barghest, between instinct and pragmatism, reflected in the very eyes the glimmered over the dying flame. But this was a look Runt was used to. Goblins often had the same gaze whenever they dealt with each other. The begrudging respect. The veiled, unspoken threats. Paranoid, anxious, and hurrying the deal along as quickly as they could manage. Still if another had gazed him with the same amount of disgust Barghest had Runt would never trust them to remotely follow through with a deal.
But the binding of the motes surrounding their hands would make sure to seal the compact. Just as Runt had been pained to think against following the letter of the deal, so would Barghest. The dog would be compelled to kill the two he named before they left Mirefort. Barghest was also not a goblin. Runt had seen enough to justifiably think that Barghest was not planning ways to get out of this deal. Unlike Runt who would buck and strain against any rule set levied upon him, Barghest was content to stay within the lines. To do what was agreed upon. While perhaps he had no fondness for Runt, nor any worry regarding the greenskin’s safety, he was the type to go about conflict openly. He had hoped Runt would be killed by the ghoul, but had done nothing to guarantee that end. He had honour, and that was an aspect Runt was all too happy to exploit.
The paw and clawed hand shook once, than twice. Setting the motes upon them into a flurry of motion. The deal was sealed, and swiftly the hands pulled apart yet again. Barghest barked a few orders to the hounds around him, scampering paws sending their owners away a moment later. The hound moved to sit beside the corpse of the guard, laying his shaggy head upon her side. Long strands of fur began to slowly flow into the alleyway, coalescing and entombing the prone body. Soon Runt could not distinguish any forms before him. The bundled fur encircling much of the alleyway, rhythmically writhing and twisting in a pattern Runt could not place. Runt was unknowingly witness his first demonstration of magic. A complex pattern forcing the nearby motes into motion. Runt’s untrained eye could not identify any of the movements that surrounded him. Flickering lights pulled together into groups, seemingly at a random size and pace. To Barghest the motions were instinctual. The gathering and distribution of motes coming to him as though he were dreaming. Inspiration more than study.
Many mages would have spent their lives just to witness a single snippet of the moment Runt was experiencing. Runt had no knowledge to judge the view currently unfolding before him. It was interesting to watch, but Runt quickly disregarded it. Instead of watching motes forming into complex interlocking geometric shapes, he busied himself with taking a trophy. His claws tore into the now paper thin blackened skin below him, digging and grasping at the stained white bones that lay underneath. All flesh seemingly calcified and burnt, digging through ash more than a body he slowly tore apart the ghoul. Piling the bones behind him, brushing away the former life with every descent of his hand. He caught glimmers of the pattern around him, but only began to smile as he finally found the piece that he wanted.
Out of all the bones the skull was by far the heaviest. As large as his torso he struggled to keep it aloft. Spitting on to one finger he began smudging at the stains that covered it, grinning from ear to ear as he slowly exposed the pristine white bone trapped underneath. Reaching into his overladen bag of food he triumphantly stuffed a piece of stale bread into his mouth. He cracked the overly hard crust as he studied the skull within his hand. Cracking another piece against his teeth he risked a glance at Barghest. Symbols made of motes floated by the greenskin, energy gathered and spent on the magic before him. Prizes in tow he walked over to the pulsating bundle of knotted fur.
Curiosity casually gripped him the longer he watched. His limp and pain forgotten as he watched the miracle unfolding before him. Absentmindedly he studied a few of the floating structures around him. He lacked the understanding of their import, but could admire them aesthetically. Their twisting patterns filled the air, seemingly ignoring and passing by Runt no matter where he stood. He wasn’t foolish enough to attempt t disrupt the pattern, but he still felt the urge to do so. Instead he finished his crust and dug his hand into the bag for more, a rotten fruit settling into his hand and eagerly bitten a second later.
“Pretty ain’t it,” squeaked a voice beside him, prompting Runt to twist violently, his food slipping half chewed from his mouth.
His eyes narrowed and stared into the gloom, finding the air beside him empty and vacant. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, ears twitching as the searched for even the slightest sound.
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Whisper quiet he heard a shift of movement to one side, his hand whipping out and sending the softened core of food in his hand tumbling through the air. A harsh, pained squeak filled the air. A smirk crossed Runt’s face, only to falter as he turned to glimpse what he had hit.
An enormous rat sat before him. Small hand like paws gripping the rotting fruit, gnaw marks already showing upon it’s skin. The rodent was truly massive. A giant among it’s kind. Runt couldn’t help but feel the drool pooling in his mouth at the sight of such a creature. Rat meat was one of the few delicacies that the goblins had truly perfected. If a goblin clan ever decided to write a cookbook a full half would have been dedicated to the hundreds of ways a rat could be prepared. A dozen of those would have been edible even to other mortal races. The meal that the beast before him represented overshadowed even the bag of food that Runt currently held. With a hungry grin he launched himself forward, only to stumble as a second voice caught his attention.
“Idiot,” snapped the voice, catching his attention just in time to force Runt into a stumble. The heavy weights he carried only adding to his problems balancing and allowing him to crash into the ground. Runt snarled and quickly turned his neck to face the voice, only to find the insult hadn’t been directed at him. The narrowed backlit green eyes of the cat before him flickered in his direction for only a moment before turning back to the oversized rodent sprawled out before him.
“What?” the rat responded, it’s teeth sinking into the fruit between breaths as it turned its bulk towards the feline, “It ain’t a lie, Bargy’s always been the best at these kind of things. Was just stating for our new friend here that what he’s lookin’ at should be appreciated.”
“You startled him on purpose, after I told you, very firmly, about how we should go about first impressions.”
“I promised I would be on my best behaviour, never said my best was up to your lofty standards.”
“And you’re stating, to me, to the spirits around us, to the very base of the deal we just made, that scaring him in that way was truly the best you could do?”
“Oh I could scare him more if I tried,” the rat shot back, gulping down another bite of food, before gesturing an accusatory finger towards the feline, “And yes. I’m prepared to face judgment for my actions. The motes ain’t ever turned against me, ‘cause unlike certain fancy felines I ain’t in the habit of hiding my shit. They know I followed through with our deal, so do your fuckin’ part before I call you out before ‘em.”
Runt could feel the tension in the air building between the two entities as he pulled himself to his feet. Using the skull as support he slowly turned his gaze to the two bickering animals. A grimy, obese, and much too overly relaxed rodent facing off against a cat just barely larger than it. Runt studied them both as the spoke, connecting the dots with a quick glance behind him. The patchy, splotched fur of the cat finally turned to address him. Their eyes meeting for a moment, green reflecting red before the voice piped back up a moment later.
“I truly do apologize for my compatriots attempt at humour. We sensed a shift flows deeper in town and thought Barghest was in trouble. We were able to catch your valiant defeat of the monster from a safe distance, and well, thought it would be prudent to introduce ourselves. I am Patches,”
“And I am Cluny.”
“And along with Barghest-”
“Bhargy,”
“Barghest,” Patches repeated, rolling over the rodent’s interruption as though it hadn’t occurred, “We make up the major spirit inhabitants of Mirefort.”
Cluny began to open his mouth, only for Patches to shoot him a look, catching the interruption before it could truly begin, “No Cluny, no matter how many times you try and state it, Goliath does not count nor does Gustave. They have explicitly communicated to us, and Barghest has made this very clear to you as well, they should not have anything to do with Mirefort. Just as me and Barghest stay within the city, they stay within the swamp. They don’t reside within the city proper and have no urge to do so. Why you insist on them being included-”
“Because, I ain’t about to label us as major while implying they’re lesser. You tried that with me when I showed up here, and I had to fight to get my voice like you,”
“Oh for- Cluny you arrived on a boat and within a month you had consumed your predecessor and took up his seat. I had to side with Templeton because at the time he did have our ear, and you were and still are an impudent upstart who lives to cause trouble.” snapped Patches, before turning back to Runt, eyes unreadable as she studied him.
Runt was content to be quiet when the spoke, absorbing as much as he could while they bickered. In the time between them addressing him and when Patches turned back to address him, the small greenskin had gotten comfortable. He sat upon the skull, the thick bone keeping his weight aloft as he slowly chewed on a bit of meat gristle that hadn’t gone too bad. His bag of food was laid out in his lap, carefully guarded as he judged the animals before him. That they had been content to ignore him either spoke of idiocy, or confidence, and Runt was beginning to sense it was a mixture of both.
That there were more like Barghest wasn’t surprising, but the forms they took certainly were. Runt had just stumbled into this world, and while a giant rat speaking to him was certainly disconcerting, it wasn’t any more or any less so than a talking dog. It unnerved him, and prompted further questions he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure if the creatures before him would even have the answers.
“Please ignore my rude compatriot, may I have for your name oh heroic slayer of ghouls? Your name for a moment of our time?” the feline sweetly chimed in, pulling Runt from his pondering in an instant. A paw was extended, a handshake offered as a greeting that Runt hesitantly reached out his own to grasp.
A squeak from Cluny gave Runt pause, his hand inches from Patches’ paw. Two sets of predatory eyes turned to face the rodent, one glaring at the interruption and the other in hunger despite the over abundance of food it now had.
“Watch her phrasing. Patches acts like a lady, but she’s more of a scoundrel than any of us,” hissed Cluny, his eyes flicking to Runt. A conspiratorial glance before continuing, “She got me with that trick first time I met her too. Took me a week to get my name back. How many fuckin’ backwards ass deals did you leave me with when I got it back?”
“Two if I remember correctly. One to Templeton, one to Gustave. Templeton’s is defunct of course, but I believe you still provide Gustave with a hundred of yours a month.”
“See. I am on my best behaviour. Even protected our guest here,” if rats could grin, the smile on Cluny’s face would have been beaming. Instead the sharpened grime covered fangs would disturb anyone, if they didn’t have their own set. Runt turned his gaze back to Patches a joyless smirk twisting his face. Suddenly two gazes of a similar mindset now turned towards the feline.
Far from frightened Runt found the interaction refreshing. His paranoia vindicated. Misspent on Barghest, he now found a worthy opponent.
“Would either of you like to make a deal?” said Runt, glimmer deepening within his eyes, shaking the bag of food on his lap.