by A Uscila
“Always the source of merry spirit, eh Liz?” – A sarcastic grunt, puffed out together with a sharp exhale as another burly fellow performed an overhead swing upon two approaching goblins – a large, double-edged axe-head falling upon both in surprising precision. A squeal released by the duo followed the sound of flesh and bone being split apart, for their small frames could not withstand the heavy-handed swing, especially when no protection was worn. Not even leather armor. Not like that would have helped much.
“That goes double for you, Gurg” – The ice-magician shot back, while meticulously skewering three goblins with a single conjured ice-spear, a barely noticeable smirk coming into play over the results.
“Look, how about you two sort out whatever it is you’ve got there after we finish this god damn escort mission-…” – Clearly fed-up, George complained at the two, while maintaining a constant and seemingly never-ending stream of healing. His complaint cut off before being finished, a fact that slipped the notice of all those present – seeing as their hands were kind of full already.
Moments passed, the skies seemed darker now, while the battle seemed gloomier, no longer an optimistic sparkle present to paint the scene in its’ bright twinkle. It seemed quite harder to continue fighting as well, more wounds were opened, while those already present did not heal.
“Hey George? I don’t care how much you scream that you’re trying, but clearly – it’s not enough! How about you put some backbone into those heals, huh?!” – Weighted down by the constant barrage and his health visibly bleeding out towards a dangerous bottom line, the mace-wielding front-liner finally snapped, only to loudly voice his complaint – loud enough for it to reach the backlines through all that damn racket.
Weirdly, no snappy reply came, which was uncharacteristic – almost made the burly fighter turn and check what was going on. Almost – but not enough to risk sacrificing his remaining health. Yet what almost tipped the lingering decision towards action, was the fact that not only was there no reply, but neither did any additional healing seemed to be forthcoming.
“uumm…excuse me…” – Timidly, a fifth voice came in reply, instead of George, a voice that belonged to a prone figure in civilian clothes – the supposed reason for the escort. His voice – the tone too shy, too silent, did not manage to reach the ears of those nearby, to penetrate the thick wall of noise constantly reverberated all around.
“God damn it George, what the fuck are you doing back there? Get your head out of your ass and-!” – Boiling over, the mace-wielding fellow turned around in a fury, a shield placed as to absorb most of the damage directed at his mid-body, while a blind, frantic swing of the mace was performed with the intent to per-chance – dissuade at least one goblin from attacking while he was distracted. Yet even with all the risk for a few moments of venting, the front-liner still didn’t finish his sentence properly. Why? Surprisingly – not because too many goblins jumped at the opportunity, oh no.
“Fuck is going on…” – Gurg joined in as soon as he heard his colleague’s complaints, turning at a similar time as the ongoing venting abruptly ceased, his features going blank, just as the mace-wielder’s did.
Their former white-robed healer was lying face-down on the ground – particles already floating up into the air, as the deceased player was dematerializing, with numerous arrowheads sticking out from his back as the presumed tool of murder. No matter how lamentable the sight seemed, no pity was spared for good ol’ George – for the surroundings suddenly brightened up quite a bit, the temperature rising to the extent of evaporating most of the glittering ice-particles that Liz released – drawing her attention as well.
Just in time to meet an exploding wall of fire that exploded outwardly together with scorched splinters of wood and sizzling flesh – knocking all three right off the now destroyed wagon and straight into the swarming midst of the goblin horde. Their escortee? Not much was left of that one – must have been on terribly low health, that one.
*******
“Splendid shot” – Wail commented, his features in conflict between a jealous frown and a sadistic sneer – seems like the crazed magician had a hard time making up his mind over which feeling took priority in current circumstance.
“Thanks” – Willow replied gruffly, most likely lost as to how react to the sudden drop of praise – which, considering the frequency, the chance of even being given and thus the value of it, could be likened to gold.
“I know” – Sorro said lazily, his reply given in a same manner a dismissive hand gesture would be.
Willow raised an eyebrow to that, while an ominous premonition creeped up her spine. He didn’t…did he?
“I was speaking to Sorro” – Of course he did. Apparently, the compliment was given to the little demon and not the praise-hungry vixen, an embarrassing fact reinforced further by Willow’s false assumption. It was no surprise then, when she turned with furrowed brows and pressed together lips – a clenched fist raised in preparations to strike. Before the impulse could be satisfied, the ranger’s eyes met with Vivian’s own – who was strategically placed in between the two in-fighting foster parents. Did Wail predict such an outcome? Or was it just a coincidence?
That was when she spotted a barely noticeable tug at the corner of Wail’s lips – as if he was attempting to hold back a self-satisfied sneer. Could have been just paranoia or a desperate need to justify her further actions – which was irrelevant to her, as she simply gripped onto it like a drowning at a straw. Though the fist did shift into a palm instead, with an echo of a smack drifting from their position after sudden contact.
“What the…” – Wail was about to complain, argue or rage-about, left hand rubbing at the sore spot, while eyes glared at the female fury in a hurt manner. As if he was undeserving of such treatment and had about enough of it. Since this was Wail we’re speaking about – quite the dangerous line.
“Can I go roast your relatives over there, while you two lovebirds squabble?” – Unperturbed by whatever drama was taking place, Sorro interrupted.
“Who are you calling lovebirds, you burning rat?” – Willow shot back quite angrily.
“Who do you think?” – Yet the little demon did not seem to shrink even a little bit under the female’s boiling disposition, as if quite confident in his own well-being.
Wail on the other hand, was caught off guard, stuck in attempts to make up his mind which insult to address first, as both seemed equally offensive. How was his appearance in any way shape or form similar to that of the goblins? Though it was interesting how Wail came to the conclusion that it was his appearance and nothing else that was likened to them.
“I don’t look anything like them, do I?” – In fact, the warlock felt so insecure, that he even turned to Vivian, who was still present in close proximity, for reassurance. To which, the little bundle of childish impulses energetically shook her head – the long hair fluttering in the air from the erratic movement like the arms of a windmill.
Satisfied with the reply, yet grumpy over the fact that he needed reassurance from a child, Wail was about to dive back into the verbal fight with renewed vigor. Good thing he didn’t have the time for it.
“Uumm…sorry to interrupt, but I think you should see this” – Bob intervened, a plated finger pointed towards the aftermath of their backstabbing attack.
Almost at the same time, the main participants of the verbal-conflict shifted their eyes where Bob pointed – only to lock them upon a piece of clothing being waved about in the air. A robe – its’ formerly white material scorched, smeared in blood, gore and dirt, all the while being waved around from a spear-point, which in turn was held by a peculiar looking goblin. Unlike his kin, the goblin was covered from head to toe in leather, the chest studded and arms covered by various straps – knifes, bottles and bundles set upon them.
Male, by the looks of it, the goblin was of pale grey flesh, two small tusks sticking out from his protruding lower-jaw, while black, beady eyes g
azed in reply to the undisputed attention that Wail and co provided. Clearly – the group was found. A surprising realization, for the goblin horde – that in normal circumstances would have charged at them about now, was in no such hurry – as it milled about around the former battlefield, shuffling and rummaging what remained. Scrounging for supplies, leftover weaponry and clothing – like for example, that waved-about robe, which formerly belonged to the healer.
Three consecutive tugs pulled Wail from the peculiar sight, his head shifting to meet Vivian’s pure gaze.
“Why is that goblin waving that thing around?” – Childish curiosity, to which Wail would normally reply derisively, if not for the validity of the question. Why was he waving it about?
“In some places – waving a white flag means surrender, dear” – Willow quickly explained, before the sinister magician could even consider either being rude or replying with complete nonsense. A ruined opportunity that got back a glare from Wail. Spoil-sport.
“But that’s just a piece of clothing, not a flag” – Vivian objected by pinpointing the obvious.
“The gesture needs only the color, it doesn’t matter if it’s an actual flag or not” – Wail shot back before the sly vixen could even consider beating him to the punch. Though the easily won victory was hardly pleasant – seeing as he did not have the time to think of something mean or evil to say.
“Should I give them our reply?” – Sorro inquired, with fire-projectiles conjured above each palm – the message clear and without room for interpretation.
“No. Killing a few goblins will hardly do us any good. I’m quite interested actually, let’s hear him out. After all – they did distract those fuck’s long enough for us to intervene” – Wail replied, only to step out from within the thicket – and came out onto the forest road, just to make sure he was well visible, yet could still run away easily enough. Heck, Vivian followed him as well – since she was still holding onto his robes without letting go for a second. Those few times the magician tried to put one-over the poor girl probably left a deep trauma. Oh well. He could do the same again, when the opportunity presents itself – heck, if need be, maybe the kid will prove a long enough distraction to save his own hide? Good ol’ Wail.
“Thanks for coming out!” – An uncharacteristically thick voice echoed from the goblin ranks, while the leather-covered goblin scurried over closer to Wail – just to make sure that he did not need to shout all the time, most likely. Since neither side seemed bent on coming too close – both cautious enough.
“Well? Fuck you want?” – Wail shot back without much of an expression, yet quite the douche attitude.
“Well that was kinda mean…there’s no need to…” – The goblin began in a wounded tone, only to narrow his gaze upon the rude magician for a second or two – eyes widening considerably soon after – “Wait, is that a flying turd?” – His tone suddenly changed to one of surprise, while a gloved finger was being pointed upwards – towards a floating black blob of eyes and fangs. The Soulfiend.
Somewhat bewildered by the question, Wail made a quick glance towards the pointed-out direction, only to sigh heavily after confirming his fears.
“Something along those lines…”
“Why do you have a flying turd following you around?” – Clearly stumped, the goblin inquired further – black pupils tracing the flying form like some sort of never-before-seen sight.
“How is it any of your f-“ – In quite the hostile manner, which was in no way unusual, the magician began his reply, only to be interrupted by consecutive tugs of his robe – the glare lowering to meet eyes as pure as crystal. Yet, before Vivian could express whatever it was she was going to say, a palm was extended towards the child – an action that was quite enough to silence her – “Now now, don’t interrupt. Adults are speaking” – a ridiculous comment thrown down, with a glimpse of a tight-lipped smile before Wail turned back to the goblin, clearly intent on resuming whatever he was trying to say – “…how is it any of your fuc-“ – This time, another female companion intervened, all-the-while displaying a clear advantage in experience and physical capabilities – since the poor warlock was interrupted not by a tug, but a smack over the head, which served as quite an effective way to end all hostilities there and then.
“What the fuck was that for, woman!?” – Finally snapping, Wail whirled around with a snarl, as if ready to pounce onto Willow with great fury – which was clearly a bluff. He didn’t have the stats or the skills to manage even a simple tackle.
“For being an idiot” – a simple reply. Clear, direct, bold even. Frankly, the abused was left speechless for a moment or two, only to turn away frowning soon after – arms crossed, a few dissatisfied mumbles spoken under his nose. It did seem like the mage was moping like a kid – which would be a ridiculous notion, seeing as Wail was clearly not that young.
At least physically.
While the drama was taking place, the goblin seemed distracted himself, as his attention jumped from one individual to the other, finally resting on the sight of a little girl running off and jumping onto an angry, clawed, flame-covered demon with a giggle – while the demon himself started raging, jumping around and spitting fire – none of which had any visible effect on the child.
“…quite the group you got here…” – The goblin finally commented, almost to himself – as he was still clearly caught up by the sight.
A moment of silence passed, followed by another smack that echoed from where Wail and Willow was standing.
“God damn it woman, I swear…” – an anger filled threat echoed in reply, yet could not be finished fast enough.
“How about you get your head out of your ass and introduce everyone instead of acting like a little bitch?!” – Willow shot back, without having any of Wail’s usual nonsense.
Surprisingly – it did seem to be working, since instead of continuing the argument, he simply rubbed the sore head, shot a few glares all around and finally turned back to the goblin.
“I’m Wail” – Quite the laconic start.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Slicknick!” – The goblin quickly shot back with a toothy grin, which made it seem like the unfriendly display didn’t affect him in the least.
“This here is Willow…” - Without even exchanging a polite shake of the hand, the anti-social warlock continued, eyes still slightly oppressed by the furrow in his brows, while mouth was still twisted into a light frown.
“Nice meeting you” – In follow-up, the female ranger nodded in quite the reserved manner, a few polite words added to the greeting. A tug at the corner of her lips that seemed to have slipped control.
“The pleasure is all mine” – Slicknick replied quite energetically.
“That, over there is Sorro” – Wail continued almost mechanically – a skinny finger pointed at the specified party-member, only to casually add another introduction – “And the one riding on top of him, is Vivian”
“Fuck you looking at, ugly?” – noticing the sudden attention and clearly having plenty to vent due to obvious reasons, Sorro turned his two swirling pits of molten fire that served as eyes at the goblin and gave out his own, special form of a greeting – only to return to futile attempts of getting the girl off without shredding her to bloody pieces. Quite considerate of him.
“I’m guessing that’s normal, right?” – Somewhat lost, Slicknick turned to Wail together with the voiced question.
“You have no idea…” – Came an unexpected and seemingly fed-up reply, only to continue with the introduction, without elaborating further – “Bob.” – With an upturned palm directed towards the dark underling, Wail introduced briefly – the lack of explanation or context almost emphasized by the silence that followed.
“Ah, hello” – Somewhat confused, Slicknick could only play along, as he stepped up to exchange a handshake with the formidable bulk of muscle and steel – a gesture that was not rejected, since Bob stepped up almost at the same time, as if inten
t on exactly that.
“Never shook hands with a living goblin” – a peculiar phrase left behind as the greeting was over with – his voice echoing ominously from within the metal cage.
“Whoah, cool! You sound and look just like a medieval Darth Vader! Even your sword has red in it!” – Un-phased by the comment, the goblin exclaimed in excitement – a finger pointed at Souleater, which Bob still wielded at the ready – “All you’re missing is a billowing black cape!”
“Ah, yes. Thank you very much” – The underlings helm seemed to raise upward a little bit during the reaction, while the tone clearly revealed how proud Bob felt, though the display was quickly discarded once the man leaned slightly towards Wail, an inquiring whisper slipping out of the helm’s slits – “Who’s Darth Vader?”
A slap echoed in reply, as Wail could only smack his own forehead in frustration, while a few moments of silence were maintained like a calm before the storm. After all – everyone did expect him to elaborate. Instead, the warlock simply turned around and pointed a finger towards minion number one – “Undead minion” – without waiting for a reaction, he quickly directed the finger towards his Soulfiend – “Flying turd. Done.” – Quite anticlimactic, yet the magician would have none of it, as he simply walked off without a care, his slumped shoulders telling a story of its’ own.
